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THE 


TWO BARONESSES 


51 Jitomance, 


BY 

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN, 

A»- 


AUTHOR OF THE “ IMPROVISATORE,” ETC. 



ns 

‘ f\s4A 

(c 


RIVERSroE, CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
'H. O, HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 


TEANBFHE 

O. O. PUBLIC LIBRABY 
BBPT. 1«,1940 







) 

</ 


CONTENTS, 

— ^ / 3 7 

/ 

CHAPTER I. 

rAGB 

IN AN OPEN BOAT. — THE OLD MANOR-HOUSE .... I 

CHAPTER II. 

THE GRANDMOTHER . II 

CHAPTER HI. 

THE students’ DAUGHTER l8 

CHAPTER TV. 

THE GENTLEMAN OK THE BED-CHAMBER 24 

CHAPTER V. 

THE ORGAN PLAYER 37 

CHAPTER Vl. • 

THE VISIT TO THE GRANDMOTHER 44 

CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE STREET, AND IN THE BALL-ROOM 52 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CAROLINE HEIMERANT 60 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER 67 

CHAPTER X. 

A VISIT TO THE CLERK’s HOUSE 75 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

PAGB 

WHAT HAPPENED AT DAGEBOL 85 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE commander’s HOUSE ....»••• 99 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A SUNDAY 107 

CHAPTER XIV. 

ELIMAR. — A WINTER LIFE. — A PERILOUS SITUATION . . *113 

CHAPTER XV. 

A FEW YEARS. — AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE MAKES HIS APPEARANCE I28 

CHAPTER XVI. 

DESPAIR. — HELP FROM THE “ HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN ” . I39 

CHAPTER XVII. 


THE STRANDED SHIP. — LETTER FROM ELIMAR 


• • 


153 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE WIDOW LADY 


163 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN THE ANTEROOM, IN THE COUNCIL HALL, AND IN THE THEATRE, 

TOGETHER WITH WHAT FOLLOWED 1 75 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE shoemaker’s CELLAR igi 

CHAPTER XXL 

THE baroness’s SALOON jgg 

CHAPTER XXII. 

HERMAN AND ELIZABETH , , 207 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

KING FREDERICK THE SIXTH . 


* • 


• • 


215 


CONTENTS, 


V 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE COMPOSER 

CHAPTER XXV. 

IN THE PRIVATE CHAMBER, AND IN THE VILLAGE CHURCH . 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE SEPARATION AND THE MEETING 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A LITTLE ABOUT THEM ALL. — THE GRANDMOTHER’S BRIDAL GIFT 


PAGE 

225 

235 

248 

258 





THE TWO BARONESSES. 


CHAPTER 1. 

IN AN OPEN BOAT. THE OLD MANOR-HOUSE. 

I T was a fresh breeze from the northeast A heavy sea 
rolled through the Great Belt, and dashed its waves 
against the narrow wood-grown island, Langeland, which 
Oehlenschlager calls “ a rose-branch cast into the water,’’ 
and which he has so prettily celebrated in song in his “ Travels 
in Langeland.” We have only to say of it, that a party had 
assembled there at the north point, and had sat down quietly 
around the provision basket ; the carriage that was to convey 
them back to the manor-house, stood close by; the surges 
rose higher and higher, the champagne exploded, and the 
wind took hold of the napkins and the ladies’ cloaks, which 
they had only half on, for it was late in autumn. 

It is almost a storm ! ” said the elder lady. 

“ O, it is so delightful, mamma ! ” cried the younger one ; 
“ if we could but see a shipwreck ! ” 

“ God forgive you your sins ! ” said the mother. 

“ But the stranded men should be well treated 1 we would 
give them ham and champagne, and make up beds for them at 
home ” — 

“Pray be quiet — it is terrible! And only see, there is a 
small vessel out there ! Good gracious ! it will be upset — it 
cannot go on ! Thank God we are on dry land ! ” 

Far in the distance was a large open boat ; it came from the 
Sealand side of the Belt ; there was only one sail up, which 
swelled in the strong gale, and drove the boat like lightning 
through the high waves, now lifting it so that one could almost 
see the keel, now almost burying half the sail in the hollows. 


2 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


She goes well there ! ” said an elderly man who was of 
the party ; “ but when they tack outside the sand-reef, it will 
be a hard trial for them. It will be difficult to run into 
Lohals, and they cannot get to Funen unless they have smooth 
water.” 

“See — how delightful, mamma ! ” cried the young lady, 
as the boat heeled on the top of a wave, and the water rushed 
over it. 

“ It is dreadful ! ” said the mother, “ but interesting.” 

We shall now see how interesting it was to those in the 
boat. 

The boat was from the fishing-village, Knudshoved, north 
.of Copenhagen, and consequently had made a pretty long 
voyage ; a man in a yellow oilskin jacket and trousers, and a 
broad-brimmed hat of the same stuff, which hung down over 
his shoulders, sat at the rudder. This man was dressed as if 
he could have gone through the sea with a dry skin ; he was 
the owner of the boat. Ole Hansen, from Knudshoved. By 
his side sat a handsome young man, also in a seaman’s dress, 
but the cloth of his coat was fine, and the cut fashionable ; 
he was Count Frederick, a young student, whose father’s estate 
lay in Funen. Two other persons, well wrapped up, sat be- 
fore a large basket of provisions, from which one of them 
continually helped himself ; a fourth lay stretched out at the 
bottom of the boat, but covered up well with cloaks, though 
they were now soaked with the sea water. He was suffering 
much from sickness, and his fine face, to which his wet black 
hair adhered, was deadly pale. He looked like the corpse of 
a handsome young gladiator. 

“Let me steer her. Count,” said Ole Hansen, as they 
shipped the heavy sea we have just mentioned, and which 
drenched from top to toe the sick young man, who now opened 
his eyes, — two dark and shining eyes, as though they had first 
received light from an Italian sky. 

Ole looked steadfastly on the waves as they rolled forward, 
and which, as the boat now changed its course to make the 
point, would wreak their utmost fury upon it ; but he knew 
with his own peculiar sagacity how to baffle them. The gun- 
wale was split by the heavy wave, which seemed for the mo 


IN AN OPEN BOAT. 


3 

ment as if it would upset the little bark, but it appeared to 
dive down and let the fresh wave lift it up again high into the 
air. 

Gloriously steered, old Ole ! ” shouted Frederick. This 
is delightful ! we fly like the sea-birds ; and see how the wind 
takes hold of the mast-top, so that it smokes again ! There is 
a rainbow in the drops.” 

“ We shall soon have some other drops ! ” said Ole, as he 
pointed towards a cloud. “ That gray fellow up there will 
soon give us water enough! We must manage to take the 
wind off* a little — lee-sail 1 ” 

Quick as a practiced seaman. Count Frederick executed the 
desired maneuver ; a heavy sea nearly heeled the boat ; the 
two who sat by the provision basket sprang up ; even the sick 
young man was on his legs. 

“ Sit still ! ” shouted the old man, with a powerful and im- 
perative voice ; “ bale the water out I ” 

They obeyed ; and the boat now went, with half-reefed-sail, 
further out from land. 

“ And you, who should be the gayest of us ! ” said Count 
Frederick, as he looked at the sick man, who had again laid 
down, “you are truly very amusing after a new fashion. We 
might as well land you as contraband goods on the island of 
Funen ; no one would know you I ” 

It began to rain, and the sun was about to set. Their con- 
tinual tacking had as yet only brought them a few miles to the 
western side of Langeland. The estate, which belonged to 
Count Frederick’s father, and whither they were bound, lay on 
the coast of Funen Svendborg and Faaborg, so that they had 
still a considerable distance to make ; and wind and tide were 
against them. There they sat dripping wet, having already 
passed one night from Copenhagen on the open sea. 

“ We shall not reach Svendborg by this day’s light ! ” said 
Ole ; “ we must try and get in under Funen.” 

“ Now,” said Frederick, “ it is not much more than a good 
three miles’ walk up the country to the old manor which my 
father has bought and intends to rebuild for me. Shall we not 
go there ? It is a veritable robbers’ den to look at, but quite 
romantic, and, what is still better, we shall have a roof there 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


4 

ovei our heads, and people to wait on us ; there is a manager, 
with a dairy-maid, and a whole pack of servants. We shall 
neither suffer hunger nor thirst. Just steer for Svendinge 
church tower ; there it is ! sticking up in the air there like a 
bottle ! There is a little rivulet on the coast here which runs 
out between the bushes at high water, which it is now. We 
can run right up it, and the boat will lie as snug as behind a 
baker’s oven.” 

“ Yes, you have got us on a sailing tour with a vengeance,” 
said he who sat by the basket ; “ had I not had this blessed 
appetite, I should long since have lain like Herman there ! ” 
and he pointed to the sea-sick man. 

It became darker and darker ; the boat rocked like a swing, 
and although old Ole looked sharp out, and steered well, they 
shipped a few heavy seas : the rain that fell had, on the con- 
trary, but little effect upon the soaked voyagers. 

“ Are you steering for it. Ole ? ” asked Frederick, as they 
made at a rapid rate for the coast. 

“ Here’s the creek ! ” said Ole ; and there it was sure 
enough ; his knowledge of the current, and his practiced eye, 
had led him to it ; the sail fell, and with one bound he was on 
land. “ Holloa ! ” He dragged the boat to the side, and 
threw the rope round one of the large stones. The yard-dog 
at the fishing-house close by barked his welcome. 

A walk of about three miles would be of great benefit to 
the dripping wet and benumbed young men j accordingly, they 
resolved to set out directly for the old ruined manor-house. 
Ole was to remain with the boat ; he could lodge at the fish- 
erman’s house, so the little bottle of rum and the whole of the 
provisions were delivered up to him. 

“ My knapsack is the lightest,” said he who sat nearest the 
provision basket. “ I have at least one shirt for each of us, 
and that is something.” 

They began their walk ; it was dark, the road was heavy 
and sandy, and the rain fell fast. 

“ We cannot say that we have as yet got on dry land,” said 
he who had been so sea-sick. “ I have a feeling as if I walked 
at the bottom of the sea, and that every now and then it cap- 
sized me.” 


THE OLD MANOR-HOUSE, 


5 

“ Hear how the wind whistles through the trees,” said the 
other ; “ it gets worse and worse. Are you sure that you 
know the right road, so that we may not be footing it the 
whole night, or be obliged to knock at a peasant’s door, who 
will not even open it for us ? I must take hold of your coat, 
for I cannot see a step before me.” At the same moment he 
fell down at full length, but got on his legs again, whilst the 
others shouted with laughter. 

They had now wandered for above an hour, when Count 
Frederick assured them that they must have gone in the dark 
past the place where the road turned off to the old manor- 
house. They listened, and thought they heard the barking of 
a dog borne on the wind. No ! they were mistaken. This is 
indeed a pleasure excursion ! They listened again ; a moan- 
ing sound reached their ears. 

“ What is that } ” they asked each other. 

“ It is the wind,” was the answer each gave ; but the moan- 
ing tones were heard again. 

“ Nay, but what is it.? ” said one to the other ; but not one 
was able to explain it. They stood still a moment, and then 
went on. We shall afterwards know from whom these deep 
sighs proceeded. 

Suddenly a light appeared before them. 

“ Now I know the way,” said Count Frederick ; ‘‘ there is 
the manor ! ” 

At the same moment the light disappeared, but they bent 
their steps in the direction whence it came. 

“ My boots are already so full of water,” said he who was 
nearest to their leader, “ that 1 really don’t know how deep I 
am wading. It seems to me, however, that it is rather a 
fresh cold about the feet, — have we not got into a morass .? ” 

“Yes, that we have ! ” said Frederick, “ but it is the short- 
est way, and we can touch the bottom very well. It is what 
they call the dry side of the old moat which we are now pass- 
ing through. Now we are close to the house.” 

They were close to it, and would without doubt have run 
their heads right against the wall, if the light had not ap- 
peared again at a window above them, at scarcely an ell’s dis- 
tance. They shouted aloud : “Halloo ! ” as if with one accord, 


6 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


and were answered by the barking of three or four dogs. No 
one appeared : the wind howled and blew large drops of rain 
in their faces. They tapped at the window panes, and then 
came one face and then another behind it, though without 
speaking a word, or opening the window. The young men 
made a greater noise. Count Frederick broke one of the 
panes and called upon them to open the door. 

“ Come with a light, you blockheads : it is I, Count Fred- 
erick ! open the door directly, and don’t make us stand here 
in this villainous weather.” 

“ Lord save us ! ” was the answ^er, and then there was a bus- 
tle in the house ; the light was withdrawn, and the travellers 
stood in pitchy darkness : the barking of the dogs increased, 
— at length the wicket creaked in the closed wooden gate, a 
lantern shone, and a man and girl received the travellers with 
the exclamation : “ Lord save us, in this weather ! ” 

“ We are from Copenhagen,” said Count Frederick ; “ we 
came by sea in an open boat, and got on shore on account of 
the bad weather. Now get the saloon in order, over there by 
the tower ; that is certainly the best place in the house ! ” 

“ It looks terrible ! ” said the man : “ but that room is the 
best, and we can put something into the windows to keep out 
the weather.” 

“ Gentlemen ! ” said Count Frederick, we will now make 
our entrance into my little property ! I hope it will this day 
twelvemonth show itself in a better form, and then we will 
have our house-warming with sparkling champagne. Only 
tread carefully, for here we seem to be all at sixes and sevens. 
In the mean time get us something hot, — what have you got 
here ? You have at least ale and eggs ; but I suppose rum 
and lemons are quite out of the question ? ” 

Yes ! nodded the girl, and showed her red, cheerful face out 
of her apron, which she had hastily thrown over her head to 
keep the rain off. 

They went on, but stumbled every moment over stones and 
clumps of wood. The man led the way with the lantern 
down a slope overgrown with nettles, and now and then he 
righted a few planks, which, however, did not lie any the bet- 
ter for his pains. 


THE OLD MANOR-HOUSE. 


7 

“ This is the second moat we are now passing over,” said 
Frederick ; “ in former times there stood an old manor-house 
here, with walls and ditches ; half a century ago it was all 
pulled down, except one tower, and they plastered up a great 
wooden frame-work building instead of it, which soon went to 
ruins, while the late General Maag owned it. My father has 
bought the whole lumber, the land betenging to it being capi- 
tal. We have a fine wood, and the site of the building is ad- 
mirable ; the whole affair is to be pulled down next spring, and 
a new building erected in its place.” 

They now stood in the inner court-yard, which was inclosed 
on three sides by a building of two stories ; a large and splen- 
did linden-tree extended its branches on all sides : the build- 
ing itself, by the dim light which the lantern afforded, looked 
imposing. 

“Come, this is something like,” cried one of them, — “a 
fine large door, too, in the centre of the house ! ” 

“ But no steps,” said Frederick, as he turned the arm of the 
man with the lantern. They now saw that the broad stone 
steps had been taken away ; a rusty iron railing which had 
belonged to them stood against the door, which, on a closer 
examination, they perceived hung only on one hinge, and the 
panels bulged out. 

“ Hold the lantern up that we may see the place,” said 
Frederick. The lantern being raised, showed that there was 
scarcely a whole pane in the windows, and that a couple of 
the frames had started from their fittings, and in the walls 
themselves there were large crevices, as if the whole building 
had lately undergone the shock of an earthquake. 

They now passed through a small door and entered a nar- 
row passage ; where they had to stumble over rubbish, stones, 
and a broken-down wall, and then they came into a chamber 
where the torn paper-hangings literally moved in the wind. 
They passed a large chimney, which, the lower part being 
cracked, was held together by beams and stays : the wind 
whistled through the crannies there. They next passed 
through a row of dilapidated rooms in which the floors, or at 
least parts of them, were broken up ; a single piece of old 
furniture, with garden implements, and whitewashed, clumsy 
stone figures lay in a corner. 


8 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


At length they reached a large corner room, which bore 
milder traces of devastation. The walls here — even the 
wainscots — were almost hid by worm-eaten family portraits, 
as old as the days of chivalry. Here stood venerable ladies 
with their dogs on their arms, or with a large tulip in the 
hand ; knights, with falchion and dogs of the chase ; and 
priests, with psalm-book, Latin devices, and the date of the 
year. An old open harpsichord stood in the middle of the 
floor. 

“ An instrument into the bargain,” cried one, and struck a 
note upon it ; they heard the clapping keys and three grating 
strings. The player executed one of these comical leaps that 
a person makes when about to fall, and he nearly did so, for 
at his feet lay the old door to the clock-tower. The candle 
was taken out of the lantern and stuck in a bottle which acci- 
dentally lay on the old harpsichord. 

“ More lights,” said Count Frederick, “ and bring us some 
of your clothes. Christen ; but they must be clean. Don’t you 
see we are soaked through, and that the water is dripping off 
us ! As many horse-cloths as possible, and some bundles of 
straw, into the tower there ! but it must all be done in a twink- 
ling ! The girl must kill some chickens, and prepare the best 
meal she can ; but first of all the straw, that we may warm 
ourselves ! in a twinkling, Christen, in a twinkling ! ” 

And it was done in a twinkling ; Christen brought all his 
best clothes, and a large fur-lined travelling-cloak, which be- 
longed to Count Frederick’s father. One wet garment was 
thrown off after the other ; the knapsacks were in the mean 
while opened, and everything taken out ; a pair of swimming- 
drawers was found packed in by mistake among the handker- 
chiefs. 

“ It is a decree of Providence ! ” said our sea-sick student, 
who was now mirth itself. “ Here is a great want of inex- 
pressibles ! — small contributions gratefully received ! — I am, 
however, the most accustomed to these things, so I shall take 
them and the cloak. With swimming-drawers and a fur cloak 
a man may look tolerably smart ! My dear ladies,” — here he 
bowed to the grim portraits round about, — “I trust you will 
excuse my dressing myself in your presence ! ” — and the 
transformation took place directly. 


THE OLD MANOR-HOUSE. 


9 

“ The clergy must have Sunday clothes,” said he, as he drew 
out the only and best dress he had brought with him. 

“ Assuredly. Our good and reverend tutor must cut the 
best figure amongst us.” 

They spoke of the eldest in this little party. He was a 
Holsteiner, by name Moritz Nommasen, and he had prepared 
the three others for their degrees in philology and philosophy, 
an examination which they had just passed. The leader of 
this adventurous tour. Count Frederick, whose father’s prop- 
erty, as we have stated, lay in the eastern part of Funen, had 
been accustomed from his childhood to sail about in his own 
boat ; when a boy he had made a tour to Als and Angeln \ 
nay, after his first collegiate examination he had twice tried a 
sea-voyage in an open boat with Ole Hansen, from Copenha- 
gen and home. A similar one had been now arranged and 
completed : his tutor was with them, and two young men of 
his own age, Baron Holger and Baron Herman ; but the result 
of this expedition, as we have seen, was not the most fortu- 
nate. 

They were now sitting under a roof and in dry clothes ; five 
large candles, not wax, but tallow-dips, vvere lighted, and 
stuck in haste in different-sized candlesticks. A capital family 
bed was made in the tower with straw and horse-cloths ; the 
punch-bowl steamed, and after the first glass (not the room 
but) the friends danced a round, the rain poured down out-of- 
doors, and the storm shook the frail building. 

“ Herman ! ” said Count Frederick, “ now if the door were 
only to open, and your grandmother enter, with you amongst 
us ! you who durst not come to Funen.” 

“I cannot understand that woman,” said the tutor. 

“ Nor is she to be understood,” interrupted Herman. 
‘‘ There is sometimes what I should call a little too much 
originality about her ; but at other times again so much of 
W'hat is good and noble. In almost everything she does her 
temper peeps forth ; but the poor bless her, and it is only 
with us, her nearest relatives, that she is somewhat severe. 
Myself, for instance, she could never quite bear to see since I 
was born ! ” 

Yes,” said Frederick, when he speaks of her, then she 


lO 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


appears to be a reasonable person ; but she is mad, neverthe- 
less ! I beg pardon : I know well that she is your grand- 
mother. When in Italy, she fell in love with Guido Reni’s 
picture of Beatrice Cenci, painted shortly before she was taken 
to the place of execution, and therefore the Baroness had 
always one particular execution-dress, prepared å la phan~ 
tasia. She has varieties of them, — an execution travelling- 
cloak, execution morning-gowns, and execution ball-dresses of 
satin ; she had such a dress on at one of the greatest balls 
last year ! ” 

“ Yet, while we laugh at her dress,” said Herman, “ she sits 
with all her girls and makes clothes for the poor ! ” 

“ I don’t find her so mad, after all,” said Baron Holger ; 
“ now and then she says things that are highly striking. Peo- 
ple arrive at the truth when they go to her. The other day 
she invited a party of professed gourmands ; the dean was also 
there ; she invited them to a ‘ feast of reason,’ and they got 
only boiled groats and cod-fish, together with a lecture, teach 
ing how dangerous it is to spoil one’s stomach ! ” 

“ But she is an excellent woman,” observed the tutor. 

“ I have not seen my grandmother for ten years,” said Her- 
man, “ and should she live, ten years more might pass away 
before she would send for me here.” 

“ Long may she live ! ” shouted Holger : “ the originals 
must not die out, for they create as good an effect in the world 
as uniforms in the theatre.” 

He raised his glass, and the toast was drunk, but as the 
hurrah ended, a strange sigh was heard, and it died away ; all 
four turned their heads towards the spot whence it came, but 
no one said a word, convinced that it was only the wind they 
heard. 

Whilst they are merry we will pay a visit to the above-men- 
tioned grandmother. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE GRANDMOTHER. 



BOUT sixty years ago the lot of the peasant in Denmark 


2jL was deplorable enough ; he was not much better than a 
drudge. After villeinage, which King Frederick the Fourth 
abolished, came bondage ; almost all the peasants were serfs, 
and obliged to do military service until their fifty-second year. 
Many young men endeavored to escape this service by hiding 
themselves, and others disabled themselves in order to be 


free. 


The proprietor of the estate where this original Grandmother 
lived — her father-in-law — had been a reprobate fellow, one 
of the most barbarous men of his time, and about whom tra- 
dition has preserved the most cruel remembrances. 

An opening was still shown in the gateway where the peas- 
ant was let down into what they called “ the do^s-holeJ' The 
damps from the moat penetrated through the walls below, and 
in wet seasons the floor was covered with mud and water, in 
which the frogs and water-rats gamboled at will ; here they 
let the peasant down, and why ? Often because he could not 
pay what was imposed on him for the miserable farm, which the 
proprietor had ordered him to take, and on which the peasant’s 
little inheritance was expended. The Spanish cloak^ which 
many an honest man had been compelled to bear, still lay in 
the tower ; and in the centre of the court-yard, where there 
was now a fine grass-plot and Provence roses, once stood “ the 
wooden horse,” on whose back the peasant had often sat, with 
leaden weights fastened to his legs, until he became a cripple, 
whilst the baron sat in his hall and drank with his good 

1 A wooden dress in the form of a tun, with a hole at the top for the 
head to pass through, and resting on the shoulders. 


12 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


friends, or flogged his hounds sa that they howled in rivalry 
with the rider in the yard. 

It is of that time, of that manor, and of that lord of the 
manor, we now propose to speak. 

Some ragged peasant boys stood and peeped into the court- 
yard ; there sat a man riding the “ wooden horse ; ” it was 
long Rasmus, as they called him. He had once saved a little 
money, and therefore the lord of the manor forced him to 
take a miserable, half-ruined farm. Rasmus laid out his little 
all in the endeavor to improve it, but he could not make it 
much better, and they could not pay the rent and taxes. The 
proprietor had every stick and stone valued, and then turned 
Rasmus, with his wife and child, out of the farm. Rasmus 
wrote a melancholy song about it, and was put in the “ dog’s- 
hole ” for his pains. When he came out, they let him have a 
house in the fields, with scarcely any land to it, unless a little 
cabbage -garden and a piece of land in the pastures, about two 
acres, can be so called ; and for this wretched shed and 
strip of ground he and his wife were obliged to work and 
drudge most of their time on the estate : he had that morning 
complained that it was too hard a life, and for this he now 
rode on the “ wooden horse.” This horse was a narrow plank 
raised on two poles, and the poor sinner was placed across it ; 
two heavy bricks were fastened to his legs that they might 
stretch them down, and that his seat on the sharp board might 
be more painful. 

A pale, emaciated woman, her eyes filled with tears, stood 
and talked with the man who had a sort of temporary super- 
intendence over the sinner — she was long Rasmus’s wife. 
The culprit had neither hat nor cap on, his thick hair hung 
down over his face, and he shook it now and then when the 
flies plagued him too much. The heavy bricks weighed his 
feet towards the ground, but however much he stretched out 
his toes, he could not reach it to get support. 

A little girl, three years of age, his and Hannah’s child, 
and beautiful as an angel, toddled about in the grass, and 
whilst the mother spoke with the man who kept guard, the 
child approached her father, and, either from the mother’s in* 
structions or from childish instinct, she pushed a stone noise- 


THE GRANDMOTHER, 


13 

lessly under one foot, so that he could rest on it. The child 
had already taken a stone up in the same way, to slip it un- 
der the other foot, and looked, with her beautiful, intelligent 
face, up to her father, when the baron stood in the gateway op- 
posite to them with his great riding whip. He had observed 
what passed, and the whip cracked around the poor child, and 
it uttered a painful scream from the blow : the mother threw 
herself between them, but the baron kicked the poor pregnant 
woman, who fell down on the pavement. 

We will turn from this horrid scene, of which, in the so* 
called good old times, there are too many to tell, and. only state 
that this child, whose neck and arm were swollen with the 
blow of the whip when she pushed the stone under her 
father’s, long Rasmus’s, foot, as he rode on the “wooden 
horse,” was no other than the old Baroness, the Grand- 
mother ; for this child, whom he struck, became in time his 
son’s wife. 

So dark a scene of her childhood as that we have commu- 
nicated, lived in the memory of the old woman whose original- 
ity has been mentioned and laughed at. She herself had 
been mistress for many years of that manor where her mother 
had been kicked until it brought on a severe illness, where her 
father had sat in the “ dog’s-hole,” and ridden the “ wooden 
horse ; ” and now she had planted the finest roses on that 
place of punishment. 

Many a tradition is told of that wicked lord. His mag- 
nificent marble monument stood over the family vault of the 
church, surrounded by angels, and with gilt inscriptions : he 
himself had during his life sent for all this splendor from 
Italy, and placed it in the chapel. In a wild and merry hu- 
mor, he and his companions went into the church, where he 
sat down in his coffin, and there drank his own health, his 
comrades’ health, and, last of all, the devil’s — and he sat there 
dead in the coffin. Some said that he had had an apoplectic 
stroke, but most people knew better, — it was the devil who 
had twisted his neck. 

The Baron’s son, the only one he had, was just as rude and 
wild as his father, but not so cruel or wicked. He led a reck- 
less life, but at last he fell really in love, and that was with the 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


H 

schoolmaster’s foster-daughter — a beauty, such as the country 
has but few of. She was the daughter of long Rasmus ; a 
courageous girl and merry to an excess, yet, strange to say, 
virtuous ; and spite of himself, the Baron was obliged to take 
her to wife if he would have her. 

Now it is certainly told by some that he had allowed himself 
to be ensnared ; that he was just about to drive off to Laaland, 
in order to marry a young lady of noble family, but that he 
saw the beautiful Dorothea near the schoolmaster’s house; 
that the latter had got him to drink, and that an old hussar, 
dressed as a priest, had married them ; but this is only a lie 
and invention ; the church register tells a different story, and 
it is quite sure that he never parted from Dorothea, who now 
became a fine lady, though it is true that she was often harshly 
and badly treated by him. 

They had several sons, who all died before they arrived at 
man’s estate ; at length, many years after their marriage, they 
had a daughter. She grew up, and was a quiet child ; but 
whilst she was young the father died, and then Dorothea’s 
government began. They said, that if her life before had 
been one of seclusion, it now went on as merrily as with pipe 
and tabor. It is true there were none of the first nobility in 
the neighborhood that visited her, yet she had the house al- 
ways full of guests. 

In the winter she visited Copenhagen, and there lived mer- 
rily, and made acquaintances enough with counselors’ wives, 
advocates’ wives, artists, and widow ladies ; and thus she had 
her house in the country always filled with guests during the 
summer, and was quite the fine lady. She was not in want of 
sense, and had even genius, but it always ran wild: she 
had also a heart, but caprice directed it in an unaccountable 
manner. 

She travelled to Italy, became a connoisseur in art, and 
dressed herself å la Beatrice Cenci^ in the dress in which the 
latter was executed : all the letters from her countrymen in 
Rome, at that time, contained amusing anecdotes about the 
Funen lady. A Baron Buncke Rennow, from Holstein, who 
was not a very young man, resided at that time in the city of 
the Pope : he visited the Baroness and her pretty daughter, 


THE GRANDMOTHER. 


15 

the latter of whom, it was already said in Copenhagen, had 
made an impression on him. All at once, it was reported that 
they were betrothed, and soon after, that they were married. 
The following year, they all returned to Denmark. 

Buncke Rennow was not the eldest son, but he had a con- 
siderable annual income from the family estate, and, besides, 
had a good place in the German board of justice and home 
department, in Den mark, and accordingly, as the saying is, he 
could afford to keep a wife. With the son-in-law, there now 
came several grown-up sons of the first families to the mother- 
in-law’s house j they wished to see her peculiarities, and felt a 
desire to speak about them. She was soon known and sought 
as an original, who furnished materials for conversation in 
their meagre saloon life. 

Soon after their return from Italy, the young wife gave birth 
to a son j his skin was dark and his eyes jet black, like Italy’s 
children, in whose sunny clime she had borne him under her 
heart. This child was Herman, our young student, whom we 
first found sea-sick in the boat, and whom we left last in swim- 
ming-drawers and fur-lined travelling-cloak, before the punch- 
bowl. 

However fond the parents might be of each other, it seemed, 
nevertheless, as if their love did not meet in this child ; it was 
said, that from the first moment it was shown to the father, he 
regarded it coldly, and without saying a word. The mother’s 
feelings for it were sadness or silent sorrow: there was a 
peculiar melancholy about her mouth, when she looked at the 
little one, and she shook her head, as if she did not approve 
of the thoughts that passed in her mind, then burst into tears 
and kissed the child. It was but a little more than a year old 
when it lost its parents ; a virulent typhus fever carried off the 
father, and the mother, who attended on him night and day, 
drank in the contagious venom, and followed him, a week af- 
ter his funeral. 

The Grandmother sent the child away immediately to a re- 
spectable gardener near Odense, in whose family the boy 
remained until his ninth year. He had become a fine boy, 
full of life and vigor, wild and merry, for he had always plenty 
of exercise ; but all were fond of him, for he had a good 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


l6 

heart ; and he possessed considerable talent, particularly in 
drawing, in which he excelled ; but they were always comic 
subjects that he designed. 

He was, as we have said, nine years of age, when his 
grandmother determined on taking him home to live with her, 
in order, as she said, to educate him herself, to be “ a Chris- 
tian robber.” He came, was in the house with her for three 
days, but she found that he made a fool of every one and 
everything ; he was “ a little blackguard,” — but this we must 
positively deny, — he should, therefore, be sent away again, 
but not to the gardener’s family, for they did not understand 
how to root out weeds, she said. “ The man may understand, 
well enough, how to look after cucumbers, and his wife to 
gather currants, but they do not understand how to ennoble 
slave-seed.” 

The boy’s family, on the father’s side, cared nothing about 
him ; and his guardian, who was the clergyman of the place, 
obeyed the gracious old lady in everything. Herman was 
therefore sent to the Latin school at Herlufholm, whence he 
was removed to the university, where in one year he grew up 
a handsome man. There was something in his whole person 
that bespoke innate chivalry. He was of a lively and merry 
nature, and had no small share of eloquence. His excellent 
talent in drawing comic figures, and the fact of his being by 
birth a baron, had in particular bound Count Frederick to him. 
They had formed an acquaintance whilst frequenting the lec- 
tures at the university, and continued it with their common 
tutor : the third young friend, Baron Holger, joined them in 
their preparatory studies and friendship. 

Herman knew that his Grandmother had set out a week 
before for Holstein, where she was to stay for at least six 
weeks. He had therefore allowed himself to be persuaded 
by Count Frederick to make the sea-trip to Funen, whither 
she would not allow him to go. He was obliged to write to 
her every month, and the following post-day he regularly re- 
ceived a few lines. She had lately written to him and said, 
“ I mean once more to see you, but we can very well wait for 
some time yet ; yes, both of us. Do not come before I invite 
you, for it will be a dear-bought pleasure to you ! ” 


THE GRANDMOTHER, 


17 

Thus, after an absence of ten years, Baron Herman came to 
his native island, where the party intended to pass a few days 
in shooting, and other sports. A ride out past Grandmother’s 
manor, a peep into the garden there, now that she was away, 
might very well be undertaken without its coming to her knowl- 
edge, for no one knew who he was. 

They had sailed out from Copenhagen with a good wind ; 
but, as it afterwards changed, they had only been able to reach 
Jungehoved on Sealand, where they lay in the open boat the 
first night, and had now, as we know, come the next evening 
to Funen : not to their place of destination, but to the old 
ruined manor-house, where we will again visit them whilst 
they are drinking toasts to the deceased ladies and misses, 
whose worm-eaten figures formed the ladies’ part of the com- 
pany in the saloon there, where a strange adventure took place 
that same evening. 


8 


CHAPTER III. 


THE STUDENTS DAUGHTER. 


ERMAN had drawn an amusing little picture in his 



n sketch-book of the whole party as they were then 
dressed, and on another leaf a sketch of himself, as the sea- 
sick student — a picture that was very successful, on account 
of the resemblance. The conversation had taken another 
turn ; the wind had fallen somewhat, but the rain, on the con- 
trary, poured down faster : the water ran in streams from the 
windows, down the walls, and along the floor in a sort of 
channel, which it had formed for itself. 

They were in the middle of their sporting stories, and 
Count Frederick related his last badger-hunt so vividly, that 
Herman, as he said, really thought he felt the charcoal creak 
in his boots. 

‘‘ Such animals I can shoot ! ” continued Frederick ; “ foxes, 
martens, and large birds of prey ; but a stag, a roe — no ! I 
am not a true sportsman ! Only think of standing on the 
watch, wailing, lurking, and looking at the royal animal, 
springing by so light and hovering ; and then to send the ball 
hissing after it, to set the dogs on it, to see them catch and 
tear that shining, brown skin ; and then to see the expanding 
eyes of the animal ! it is like a human being in the deepest 
affliction ! I have seen it, and I threw away the gun ; there 
was something in the animal’s eyes that made me abashed and 
sad ! No, I would not be a sportsman, but a seaman ! it is a 
free and proud life ! it is something to wrestle with the wind 
and the storm, and to become master over them ! ” 

“ For my part,” said Herman, “ I am not fond of wrestling 
with the sea, neither in one way nor the other. I have had 
enough of it these two nights past ; but with respect to seal- 
hunting, I have been once on such a tour ; it was during a 


THE STUDENTS' DAUGHTER. ' 1 9 

vacation ! How strange we looked in our clothes ; much the 
same as this evening, yet in another fashion. I had sledge- 
boots on : it was quite early in the morning, cold and foggy, 
when six of us sailed out in a large open boat ; each of us 
was set on one of the many stones in the shallow water, about 
half a mile off. It was strange enough to sit there alone on 
the stone, slimy as it was from the bodies of the seals : the 
sea- weed lay round about ; I imagined myself alone on a des- 
ert island in the wide ocean. The water beat against the 
stone, and now and then I heard the hollow, ugly bark of a 
seal ; all at once there was a splashing close by me : I lay on 
my stomach, the wind blew right in my face ; I, however, lay 
quite still, when a seal rose suddenly up from the side whence 
the wind blew ; he rose straight up against the barrel of my 
gun, and I pulled the trigger ; the whole was but the work of 
a moment, but I had looked into his large brown eyes, which 
he darted on me, and it was just as if I had shot a man.” 

“I am sure,” said Count Frederick, “that it is the seal with 
its intelligent human eyes, that first gave the idea of mermen 
and mermaids ; often, when I was a boy, and when I lay un- 
der the trees by the sea^sliore, have I seen them rise up, and 
when the fresh sea-grass hung down over the animal’s head, it 
really looked like a human being ! ” 

He stopped suddenly, and looked towards the side room : 
the others did the same ; they had all the same thoughts, 
and the same words escaped their lips, — “ We are not alone 
here ! ” 

Count Frederick seized a candle. 

“ It is not yet the hour for ghosts to walk abroad,” said he, 
and looked at his watch. “ It is only eleven. Every one 
take his candle ; half of them will go out from the draught.” 

They now heard a sound as of crying, quite distinctly ; it 
might be the voice of an infant, or it might be a cat. The 
door was not easy to open, but a kick with the foot was of 
some avail, and they now stood in a quite empty room, and 
the wind blew the flames of the candles nearly out. The door 
of the next room was taken off its hinges, and placed length- 
wise across the doorway, whence the sound proceeded, and 
they held their lights into the room. The wall towards the 


20 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


garden was half dilapidated, and there, in a corner, upon some 
pea-straw and torn-down hangings from the walls, lay a human 
being, a woman, who, when they entered, raised herself up, 
and lifted a little naked child towards them. 

Count Frederick was the foremost: he stopped, and the 
woman sank back with a sigh. Her hands fell, with the child, 
af^ainst her breast, but in that short moment she had fixed 
her eyes on Frederick, with an expression of pain, deeper and 
greater than the wounded hind, whose look he had so lately 
described. 

“ My God ! ” he exclaimed. The child cried ; the mother, 
they found, was either dead or had swooned ; they lifted her 
arms, but they fell back powerless. 

“ It is a new-born child,” cried the tutor. “ Poor little 
thing ! And the mother will die here in this wind and rain,” 
— and away he sprang to fetch a pair of the blankets that 
were intended for their beds, and threw them over her. 

“Who can she be ? ” said Frederick. “ We must see after 
some of the servants, and get her to bed. But stay ; none of 
you can find the way here in the dark except myself,” — and 
away he ran. 

“ Poor little thing ! ” said Herman, as he took the child 
from its mother, and wrapped it up in his thick travelling- 
cloak. “ Little did I dream that I should play the part of a 
nurse to-night. You may be sure that it was the mother we 
heard in the fields there, moaning so, this evening.” 

And this was indeed the case. The suffering mother, from 
being out in such dreadful weather, had become ill ; in her 
misery, she had made her way to the old manor-house, where 
she knew the yard was open and deserted ; and here,, in that 
dark corner, on the torn-down hangings, she had given birth 
to a child. The young men took the corpse — for she was 
dead — and bore it into the large and better sheltered room, 
where they had sat around the punch-bowl. They still hoped 
that it was but a swoon. 

Count Frederick now returned, with Christen and a couple 
more of the servants. 

“ It is the musician’s wife ! ” said Christen ; “ that strolling 
musician’s — he who turns the barrel-organ, and plays on the 


21 


THE STUDENTS’ DAUGHTER. 

reeds which he sticks into his tt^ck(jtoh. The wife is a young 
girl; she beat the triangle well 

enough, the last time she sang here, ltc^vts4^wae*^tiiiier, and 
now she is dead and gone ! ” 

“ No, no ! ” said Frederick ; “ let us only get her into the 
tower, on the straw, where we should have lain, and do you 
mount on horseback, ride as fast as the horse can carry you, 
and fetch us Madam Sorensen, the midwife, from Qverndrup.” 

“ But the woman is dead. Sir Count ! ” said Christen ; “ her 
hands are already cold.” 

“ Do as I say ! ” 

And Christen w^as obliged to mount the horse, however 
much it was against his inclination, and set off to fetch the 
midwife, who could render no assistance. 

The dead woman was laid in the tower, on a bundle of 
straw, and covered up warm. One of the milkmaids got the 
child, which was wrapped well up, and had orders to take it to 
bed with her. 

“Yes, only let me be rid of it,” said Baron Herman, as he 
gave it to the girl ; “ I am afraid of its falling to pieces with 
me. It looks like one of these young copper-colored In- 
dians ! ” 

The child was a girl. 

“ We must all stand godfather to her,” said Herman ; 
“ and I hope in time we may not be ashamed of her ! though 
one dare not hope the best of a young lady, who, the first 
time she is introduced into the world, lays her head on the 
breast of a gentleman in swimming-drawers ! ” 

“ O, on her father’s heart she can surely rest ! ” said Hol- 
ger. 

“ But 1 will not be her father ! ” answered Herman. “ You 
have all as great a part in her as I ; but I will willingly con- 
tribute my share towards a Christian education.” 

“ Did you see the eyes the mother looked on me with ? ” 
said Frederick. 

“ Yes, she intrusted the child to you, that’s clear ; but as 
we have all taken a part in it, we must also share the burden ! 
Herman will contribute his share ; I also. AVhat says our 
tutor ? ” 


22 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


‘‘We have come to a christening this evening ; but who will 
take care that she gets into good hands, and who is to be 
father to her ? one of us must be ! so let us draw lots.” And 
they did so. 

“ The lot has fallen to the tutor ; therefore as she is his 
daughter, she must be christened as such ! ” 

“ No ! the Students’ Daughter ! ” said Moritz. 

“ Well, let it be so, then, — ‘ the Students’ Daughter ’ — it 
has a good sound with it ; but you are her guardian ! ” 

“ But, if the real father announces himself ! ” 

Why, let him ; but I do not think he will do so ! Let us 
now, in the mean time, think of getting a little rest, that we 
may proceed further to-morrow with better wind and weather. 
Good night, and a health to the Students’ Daughter ! ” 

“ A health to her guardian, and long may he live ! ” and 
they raised their glasses and struck them each against that of 
Moritz. 

“Nay,” said he, “if you will drink my health, then, rather, 
— yes, why make a secret of it? drink to my betrothal ! ” 

“ Betrothal ! ” they all cried. 

“ Yes, the evening before yesterday, just an hour before we 
started, I was betrothed ; and it was on that account that I 
bore the voyage so well. I thought of her, and therefore I 
smiled, and not at the high waves, as you thought. It was at 
her express wish that I accompanied you, or I would, sincerely 
speaking, rather have been at home.” 

“ That is not so unreasonable ! ” said Frederick j “ but who 
is the intended bride ? ” 

“ Miss Heimerant, the Councilor’s daughter.” 

“ What ! is it she ? now I understand. She had a seat at 
the theatre every Tuesday last year, and therefore you went to 
see all the pieces they performed on the Tuesdays.” 

“ Now you will of course write home directly, and let her 
know that you have got a daughter,” said Herman, laughing. 
The glasses were struck, and the harmonious ! “ Hurrah ! ” 
sounded merrily, close by the dead woman. 

An hour afterwards they all lay stretched out on blankets 
and bundles of straw : they slept soundly and well after their 
two days’ sea-trip, and the events of that evening, — they 


THE STUDENTS' DAUGHTER. 


23 

slept without dreaming, all except Moritz, before whom hov- 
ered the image of a young lively girl, delicately formed, grace- 
ful, and laughing, the picture of mirth itself : with her two 
brown eyes she looked into his very soul; this was his be- 
trothed, Caroline Heimerant. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE GENTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER.* 

EXT morning the weather was delightful ; the sky 



looked as if it were a holiday ; not a cloud was to be 
seen. The friends wandered down to the strand, where Ole 
got the boat in order, and with a good side-wind they went 
briskly along the coast toward Svendborg-fiord. 

“ Our northern mythology’s Archipelago begins here ! ” said 
Frederick. 

“ How do you make that out ? ” asked the tutor. 

“ Here lies, as you see, Funen, where Odin dwelt; one of 
these days we should drive up to Odense, Odin’s old city; 
there before us is the island of Thorsing, which speaks of 
Thor ; and there lies Thur Island, where Baldur slew Thore.” 

They soon entered the sound, which here resembles the 
Rhine in its broadest part, but with more of verdure ; the 
fresh stream runs in bold picturesque curves between tall oak 
and beech woods. 

“ Here Svend Tveskjæg and Palnatoke rioted, and caused 
many a broken head ; here the northern Vikings, our Argo- 
nauts sailed. There, in the wood, you see St. George’s hall 
and church, and there he combated with the dragon. Its 
abode was in Nyborg, whence it crept about the country, and 
craved its victim every day : the lot fell on the king’s daugh- 
ter, and the knight George rescued her. The north also has 
its Perseus and Andromache ! ” 

“ Translated from the Greek,” said the tutor, with a smile. 

“ No, it lies in the soil,” said Holger, and laughed. “ Let 
the peasants here tell you how great gates of copper under- 

1 In Denmark this title is not only given to those in actual service at 
court, but is granted as a sort of rank, and not confined to numbers, or 
personal qualifications, in order to gain admission to the court. 


THE 'GENTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER, 25 

ground are opened and shut every midnight. There magic 
lights burn over sunken treasures ; and in the fields in Funen 
you can see large stones, like houses, that have been thrown 
by the witches across the sound from the high hills of Thor- 
sing I ” 

“ Yes, we sail here right into the kingdom of Sagas. Ly 
Island, which you will soon see, was once overgrown with 
trees ; but there was a skipper, who, when he went from home, 
received three knots from his mother. If he undid the first, 
he would have a fair wind ; if he undid the second, there would 
be a fresh breeze ; if he undid the third, then — yes, he undid 
it at Svendborg, and then it blew such a storm that the 
wood on Ly Island was swept away ; and one can still see 
that that is true, for there is not a tree to be seen on Ly 
Island ! ” 

“Now I see my Funen tree!” cried Frederick, and the 
boat was steered towards a tongue of land thickly covered 
with underwood, where there stood a tall old tree, not with- 
ered, but almost leafless from the wind. A thousand birds 
flew screaming away from it, as our party sprang on shore ; 
close by a noble stag darted off, lightly and flutteringly ; 
and a hare started away in an opposite direction, — everything 
bespoke that it was a paradise for the sportsman. 

AVet through from the previous night’s rain, they directed 
their steps through the long grass towards the forester’s house, 
where Eiler and his wife, an old couple, lived in the silent sol- 
itude of the woods, and looked after the deer in the inclosed 
grounds. Their whole world was this tongue of land, their me- 
tropolis the manor-house, which they perhaps visited scarcely 
twice a year ; as to what passed in the real world itself they 
knew nothing at all, except when their son Hans, who had the 
good fortune to be a footman at the manor-house, let a few 
words fall that he had read in the newspapers, but that news 
was forgotten directly. Hans was just then with the old folks, 
and he ran immediately to meet the young party. The old 
woman took her wooden shoes off, and stood in her stocking- 
feet on the paved floor. 

“ Why do you do that, dame .? ” asked Frederick. 

“ Because I know well,” said she, “ how to honor those to 


26 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


whom honor is due ; ” and she smiled cunningly at the gentil- 
ity she had shown. She then spread her petticoat out on one 
chair, and her husband’s jacket on another, and begged the 
company to be seated. 

“ It was fortunate,” she said, “ for the Count, that he should 
meet with her son here, so that he could now learn how mat- 
ters stood up at the hall ; it was in order to console his sister, 
Anna Livbets, that he had come. She had been married a 
little more than a year to a clever seaman, master of a vessel 
belonging to a merchant in Faaborg; he had been washed 
overboard by a heavy sea, and she had also lost her little 
child, a few days ago.” 

“ There, we have a nurse for the Students’ Daughter ! ” ex- 
claimed Holger. “ It happens as excellently as if it had been 
arranged, — and so it is in reality ; but if one reads of such 
things in books, criticisms are made on them ! ” 

“ What strangers are there at home, Hans ? ” asked Count 
Frederick. 

“ O the Gentleman of the Bed-chamber has come — he who 
has something to wash every evening, and yet goes about 
with a leather shirt ! ” And Hans smiled sagaciously at the 
idea. 

“ What ! has he come ? He will stick as fast as a leech for 
several months, for he lives here as if he were a regular 
boarder ; he is one of these who wish to be regarded as per- 
sons of quality, and yet are almost dying with hunger. His 
whole aim and endeavor through life has been to become a 
Gentleman of the Bed-chamber.” 

“ Does he wear a leather shirt, and yet has something 
washed every evening ? ” asked Herman. 

“Yes,” replied Hans, who saw by the faces of the gentle- 
men that he could join in the conversation which he had be- 
gun. “ He has so few things wnth him that they must wash 
for him every day ; though the trunk gets the blame for hold- 
ing so little. He is very polite and free towards us servants, 
except with drink-money. There’s the pinch ; but then we 
get civility ! ” 

And Hans grinned. 

“ who is there besides ? ” 


THE GENTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER. 27 

“ There is the Councilor of War, from Odense, husband 
and wife.” 

“They are also a pair ! ” said Frederick. “ He once trav- 
elled abroad for six weeks ; he was half a day in Hanover, 
and three hours in Brunswick, but then he was a day and a 
half in Cassel, and he now speaks of that journey so that you 
would think he had been twenty years away from home. He 
has either met with persons who were nearly related to the 
most celebrated men, or he has travelled with a person who 
was so like this or that person’s portrait, that he is almost sure 
it was that personage himself. Nay, he durst almost swear 
that he had sailed down the Rhine with Napoleon, on a tim- 
ber-raft. But the most amusing thing to observe is, that his 
wife has heard him relate his travels so often, that she can 
supply any deficiency iii the story when he stops. Most of 
the time of the six weeks’ travelling, he passed in diligences 
and on the high roads ; but, as I have said, he always met 
with the most remarkable persons — Napoleon, Lavater, and 
Fru Krudner. “ And is that the whole company ? ” 

“ Fru Bager from Middlefart — ” 

“ Well, that is one reasonable person, at least. Now let us 
be off! Zamora! — my own boy!” he exclaimed and whis- 
tled, as a splendid pointer sprang to meet him, jumped up on 
him, rolled on the ground, wagged its tail, and again sprang 
up, barking all the while : he clapped it, and away it darted 
towards the hall, returning again and again to repeat the same 
maneuver. 

“ Zamora is not at all related to the Spaniards,” said Fred- 
erick, “ but it resembles a pointer that my father got of Za- 
mora himself; and which, when the Spaniards broke up their 
quarters, sneaked on board with him at Nyborg.” 

The out-buildings of the manor-house, with their fine red 
walls, now shone, between a row of splendid linden-trees, 
as if they had been lately erected ; the date of the year in 
iron, and the old inscriptions, told, however, that they were 
three hundred years old : the roofs had been lately thatched, 
and a gilt weather-cock turned with the wind on the gable- 
end. 

As the friends approached, a travelling-carriage drove from 


28 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


the lane in at the gate, but Hans neither knew If nor the 
livery. 

The court-yard was well-paved ; a low wooden trellis-work 
was fixed to the white walls of the stables, up which grew 
apricots and figs in the sunshine. 

Several of the servants stood before the carriage, out of 
which Count Frederick’s father assisted two ladies — mother 
and daughter. The former one might still call a beauty, for 
she had a high-bred bearing, noble features, and expressive 
brown eyes. The daughter was the express image of her 
mother, only that she was more finely formed : here, indeed, 
was youth in all its blooming freshness. 

“ It is Clara ! ” exclaimed the elder Count, and his eyes 
beamed on seeing such a paragon of nature’s making. 

Frederick pressed forward and seized his father’s hand. 

“ My boy — you here ! ” cried his father, pressing a kiss on 
his forehead, and shaking hands with each of the young men, 
whom he bade welcome. He then conducted both the ladies 
to the rooms set apart for them. They were the widow of 
Admiral Schleysner, and her daughter, both from Jutland, and 
now on their way to Copenhagen, who had taken up their 
quarters for the night at the Count’s house. Next morning 
they intended to continue their journey, but half a day and a 
whole evening will bring many events to pass, or at least lay 
the foundation for them. 

“ I must look to it myself to get us lodged,” said Freder- 
ick. “ Are you in order in the green passage ? ” he added to 
a servant. 

“ Sir Count ! ” said a little and particularly thin man in a 
friendly tone, as he shook hands heartily with Frederick. 

“ Ah ! Sir Gentleman of the Bed-chamber ! ” said Freder- 
ick, laughing ; “ I heard as soon as we came on shore that we 
had the honor of your visit ! Now you must really be amus- 
ing, and play something for us — some dances. You saw what 
a dancing partner we got ! ” 

This was said kindly, — kindly as when one whistles to 
one’s dog, — in this way at least the party concerned felt it j a 
slight blush passed over his face, on which however, the most 
prominent expression was a good-natured smile. This then 


THE GENTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER. 29 

was the Gentleman, who, according to the servant’s account, 
wore a leather shirt and false collars. He was about twenty- 
five years of age, and if the expression may be allowed, for it 
is at least significant, he looked famished. 

The w'hole company assembled at the dinner-table ; Count 
Frederick conducted Clara, who made a remarkable impres- 
sion on all, which she could hardly fail of doing. A poet now 
would recite in verse, to the effect that here was the regal de- 
portment, and that lightness which one sees in the fleeing 
hind ; that here was that freshness which enchants us in the 
first budding rose, or the young vernal green when the snow 
melts. There was something so singularly transparent in the 
whole appearance of this young creature ; it was the fresh- 
ness of youth with all its innocence and happiness, — all its 
confidence in man and the world. 

“ She is quite Raphael’s Madonna in Dresden,” observed 
the Councilor of War from Odense, and whispered his re- 
mark to the tutor, his neighbor, though he at the same time 
added, that he had not been in Dresden, but that he had seen 
an excellent copy in Frankfort before he had travelled. 

The Gentleman was not at table, nor was he missed : 
no one mentioned him ; the conversation was carried on 
briskly ; the young gentlemen’s sea-trip, the visit to the ruined 
manor on the previous evening, the little child there, and the 
dead mother, afforded them abundant subjects. Herman was 
obliged to produce his drawings, which particularly awakened 
Clara’s highest admiration. “ He was a man of talent, a gen- 
ius,” she said, “ and the representation of himself, as sea- 
sick, was masterly.” The admiral’s lady spoke about her ac- 
quaintances in Jutland; the War Councilor was led on to 
recount similar tales to every one that was related, of things 
and persons he had witnessed in Germany, when he travelled 
there ; his wife assisted his memory ; Fru Bager made short 
but pertinent remarks, each characteristic of her cast of mind. 
But Clara was the sun that illumined and gave warmth ; her 
eloquence lay in her smile — and she smiled often. 

It was dark evening long before they rose from table. 
Clara sat down to the piano ; she knew only one dance by 
heart, and, as she said, all her music was packed up. The 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


30 

dance was played, and the gayety of the ball-room beamed 
from every eye. 

“ O how I love music ! ” she exclaimed, “ but I cannot play 
myself, at least not without notes. Who plays ? ” 

“ The Gentleman of the Bed-chamber,” said Frederick, and 
gave one of the servants orders to tell him that they waited 
for him; that it was not a time now to have the tooth- 
ache. 

The Gentleman came, yet with a swelled cheek, but the pain 
had ceased. Fru Bager clapped him on the shoulder, begging 
him to give them, as she called it, a musical lecture ; the 
poor man excused himself by saying how little he felt dis- 
posed to play that evening, after such a violent tooth-ache, but 
yet he sat down directly to the piano, where Clara, with her 
speaking smile, looked in his face, so that the blood rose to 
his cheeks, and he executed a prelude. 

“ Nothing of your own, if we may beg,” said Frederick ; 
“ you play whole pieces from ‘ The Barber of Seville ’ so ex- 
cellently.” 

The old count persisted in having “ the musical lecture,” 
and Fru Bager laid a few pieces of national melodies on the 
piano. The Gentleman had during the previous autumn read 
to them scenes from Goethe’s “ Faust,” and before and after 
each scene had depicted the situation in music ; he had 
performed this “work of art,” as Count Frederick’s father 
called it, with several Danish poems, and really succeeded 
well. 

“ But don’t turn the leaves over,” said the Count ; “ take 
the first that comes to hand ; it is sure to be the most inter- 
esting. Here is the ballad about ‘ Elina of Veller-wood,’ ” — 
and it lay open. 

The Gentleman of the Bed-chamber seemed perplexed ; the 
admiral’s lady looked kindly on him ; Clara smiled, and a 
conversation began in an under-tone amongst the young gen- 
tlemen, as the prelude sounded, and tones came forth that in- 
timated the rushing of the wind through the forest, and the 
lightning dismissed from the cloud, described in a short but 
glorious harmony. The player then began to read quietly r 


THE GENTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER. 

without possessing any particular compass in his organ, his 
voice was pliant : — 

“ In the North Sea there lies an isle, 

There a peasant intends to dwell.” 

At the end of the third verse he ceased, and then followed 
a sort of ghost-like music, something demoniacally whirling, so 
that one might really have imagined one heard the seven hun- 
dred demons who came and would do the peasant mischief, 
and carry off his wife, as a punishment because he built his 
dwelling there. And he read on, the music all the while pre- 
ceding or joining in what he read. One heard the combat of 
the demons, and the pious folks’ prayers. The whole was like 
a varying song, with alternate demoniacal bowlings and psalm- 
singing. 

AVhere the woman calls to Jesus Christ for the third time, 
and the spell is broken, and the least demon below stands a 
handsome knight, the verse was followed by a beautiful exult- 
ing melody, which, if it was then actually improvised, might 
be called masterly, or if it was another’s composition, it was 
well chosen. 

Clara’s feet kept time, and the Councilor cried bravo ! ” 
It reminded him of a distinguished pianist he had heard in 
Frankfort. After having ended the explanation of the poem, 
where the saved knight marries the peasant’s daughter, he 
played, “ God save the king,” which was well calculated to 
entertain his auditors^ It was a splendid thought, said the 
admiral’s lady, for the knight was king of England, and the 
peasant’s daughter became an English queen ! 

Great applause followed the conclusion of the piece, and 
the Councilor’s lady assured them that, hearing this music, 
she now for the first time understood the ancient Scandinavian 
ballads. 

Clara stepped up to the piano and laid her hands on it : 
two beautiful eyes looked into his, and there was music in her 
words : the Gentleman blushed still deeper, but did not cast 
down his eyes. Music was his world, it still whirled around 
him, and, at a word from Clara, the light, dancing melodies 
sounded again. 


32 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


Bravo ! ” cried Count Frederick. 

“ Bravo ! ” repeated Herman and Holger. 

But it was Frederick who danced round the saloon with the 
hovering, lively young girl. “ Here are more ladies ! he ex- 
claimed while dancing ; but the Councilor’s lady was the only 
one who allowed herself to be moved by the invitation, and 
she was led out by Count Holger. 

Moritz had taken his place by the piano, and regarded the 
meagre and sorrowful face of the musician, which, while he 
played, put on a peculiarly animated expression ; the piano 
and the man seemed thoroughly to understand each other ; 
the tones had their source from his feelings, as surely as the 
blood circulates through the heart. There seemed to be 
something more in “ the Gentleman ” than those by whom he 
was surrounded understood. That at least was Moritz’s opin- 
ion. He now regarded the dancers, and even he found Clara 
beautiful ; he compared her with his bride, Caroline Heime- 
rant, and if he had spoken his thoughts aloud, and honestly, 
they were, — “ It is a delight to look at her ; but there is an- 
other beauty, the mind’s ; there is another still more lasting, 
and my bride has both these ; Caroline is prettier ! ” He was 
a lover who judged thus. 

Baron Herman now took Count Frederick’s place in the 
dance, for Clara assured them that she could dance her whole 
life through. 

“ And I in eternity also ! ” said Herman, who certainly 
entertained his partner excellently, for she laughed aloud; 
laughed so that she could dance no longer. There was then 
a chattering and a noise, and while this was going on, the ad- 
miral’s lady begged “ the Gentleman ” to favor her with the 
overture to “ The Caliph of Bagdad.” It lay on the piano, 
and in another moment it sounded from the wires, whilst the 
conversation began, first in a whisper, afterwards louder; 
some went out and came in, and when the piece was ended, 
they withdrew to a tea-table in a side room ; the Gentleman 
remained behind, buried in fantasies, until Count Frederick 
clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “ Now you shall rest, 
and we too.” 

The Gentleman sprang up, bowed in a perplexed manner, 


THE GENTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER. 33 

and accompanied him to the tea-table, where Fru Bager said 
he had certainly deserved his cup. 

The admiral’s lady and her daughter said they must go 
early to rest, as they were to depart at break of day, and must 
therefore get up by candle light, — “ Long before the gentle- 
men rise ! ” said Clara. 

She smiled to the Gentleman ; his best music could not ex- 
press that smile. She bowed to each of the gentlemen, except 
the Gentleman, to whom she gave her hand. “ You have had 
work enough,” said she ; “ a thousand thanks ! ” and she was 
gone with her mother. 

“ There was nothing more to be said or done for the rest of 
the evening,” said the young gentlemen, as Count Frederick 
accompanied them to the green passage. 

“ She is charming,” said Frederick. 

“You are in love,” was Herman’s reply, who wished to 
conceal his own stronger love by attributing love to another. 

“ Yes, Frederick, you are in love ! ” said Holger, who was 
more so than any of them. 

Frederick laughed outright. “ Yes,” said he, “ violently in 
love ; ” but he was not at all so. 

“ Do you want any initiation or preparation ? ” asked Mo- 
ritz. 

“ Ars amandi is certainly easy ! ” said Herman. “ Ovid 
does not belong to the human auctores / ” 

One light disappeared after the other in the chambers of 
the guests ; the last that burnt was that of the Gentleman. 
His door was well fastened ; one part of his dress was care- 
fully hung on the door-handle within, so that none of the ser- 
vants might peep in at the key-hole and watch him. He 
studied thorough-bass, and mended his own clothes — a tal- 
ent which the world did not know that he possessed, and must 
not know it. The cock began to crow before his light was 
put out, — before the bed-clothes were drawn up under his 
chin, — but when that was done, he slept immediately after ; 
he, however, dreamt not of Clara, and yet she was in his 
thoughts, between the thorough-bass and the art of tailoring. 

When he made his appearance next morning both she and 
her mother were gone. The other young gentlemen had risen 
3 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


34 

to take leave, but not the Gentleman, and yet it was remarked, 
he was the only one to whom Clara had given her hand the 
previous evening, on bidding good-night. 

“ The sun is gone down before you get up ! ” said Fred- 
erick. 

“ Down in Nyborg, to pass over the belt ! were Herman’s 
words. 

A carriage stood before the door ; the young friends had 
determined to have a drive to the forest, and the Gentleman 
was to go with them, for there was room enough. Zamora 
sprang about before the horses, and the yard-dog gave a sin- 
gle bark. The servant-girls took a sly peep from the kitchen 
door, where they stood, and pushed each other, so that their 
wooden shoes clattered again. 

The party rolled away from the field road over the highway 
into the forest and out of the forest, and it was splendid there ; 
— the foliage was a copper-red ; the brackens were still of a 
fresh light green by the blue-green bramble-berry bushes and 
lilacs. Stag and roe stood in large herds, and listened with 
their heads erect ; one darted off, and the whole herd trooped 
away after it ; no practiced maneuver could go off better. 
There were magnificent beeches, high, straight, and broad- 
crowned, as any land might be proud to own, and the sun 
shone on the wet trunks : one might have seen the shadows of 
the horses, the carriage, and the whole party pass rapidly by 
them. The green woodruff flowered again ; and in the wet, 
fallen leaves, a brown-yellow frog sprang about, as if it were 
a leaf that had received life. 

“ Don’t upset us ! ” said the Gentleman, half jestingly to 
Herman, who sat with the coachman, and held the reins, which 
was something he did not understand ; besides, the conver- 
sation in the carriage was so lively that he could not avoid 
listening to it, and they would soon have been half over 
into the ditch if the coachman had not helped him to guide 
the horses, but he also now seemed to have more ears than 
eyes. 

“ Are you afraid ? ” shouted Frederick. “ O, I know you j 
you were excellent last year when we drove with Count 
Borihs j ” and he turned to the others as he continued : “ the 


THE GExYTLEMAN OF THE BED-CHAMBER. 35 

youngest daughter, Hermanine, is a little wildcat, and indulged 
in everything ; but it becomes her. She sat with the coach- 
man — they allow her, because she is so daring — now he had 
given her the reins, and she was to drive a carriage with four 
horses.” 

“ And she is only seven years of age,” said the Gentle- 
man. 

“ But that is just the most amusing part of it,” said Freder- 
ick ; “ she drove us down the high-road close by the deep 
ditch, but he sat with his heart in his mouth, and when the 
coachman cracked his whip a little to make the horses go 
quicker, and they sprang to the side, he would sit no longer in 
the carriage.” 

“ But you have certainly not learned to drive,” cried the 
Gentleman, seizing fast hold of Baron Herman, who swung to 
and fro, and actually rolled them all into the ditch at the same 
moment. 

There was a momentary silence. The horses stood quite 
still ; each of the young men crept out, the Gentleman was 
the last. 

“ O my God, my hand ! ” he sighed ; ‘‘ it is broken ! It 
pains insufferably ! We have not come so far away from the 
house but that I can go home again — you drive on.” 

“ We must be at least more than four miles from home,” 
said Moritz. “ We will return, or I will go with you.” 

“ You have sprained your hand a little,” said Frederick ; 
“only don’t fancy that it is broken.” 

“ Perhaps you are right. Sir Count,” he replied ; “ you have 
more understanding than I ; ” and he sprang over the stile, 
and with his lame hand held by the other, they saw him has- 
tening homewards through the forest. 

“ He was saucy,” said Count Frederick ; “ that parish bea- 
dle ! Now he has not broken it, but it was only to get out of 
the carriage — the coward ! ” 

“ My dear Count Frederick,” said Moritz, “ I know you by 
this time so well ; know that you are really an excellent young 
man, but you have, from the first moment we came here, 
shown yourself strangely severe against that man. He is 
your father’s guest, and he is really a man of talent, not a 


THE TWO baronesses. 


36 

mere Gentleman of the Bed-chamber, if I may use the expres- 
sion. You are too "ood to behave in this manner ; and he is, 
I also believe, too good to bear it.” 

“ You lecture me ! ” said Frederick, half surprised and half 
good-naturedly. “ Now it is you who disturb the trip ; we can 
return, but it would be very stupid.” 

“ Yes, I will go to accompany him,” said Moritz. 

“Turn round,” said Frederick, surprised, and the coach- 
man was obliged to return — he was also surprised, for he 
drove almost at a walking pace. They were almost close to 
the manor-house when Herman pointed towards the ditch, 
where the Gentleman sat, pale as death, with his shirt unbut- 
toned. Overpowered by the pain and quick walking, he had 
felt himself about to swoon, and now sat here with his hair 
quite wet, as if he would cool his forehead. 

When they arrived at the house the doctor w'as by chance 
there. He declared that the wrist was sprained and broken, 
and desired the greatest care to be taken, otherwise the hand 
might become stiff forever. A fever had commenced, and 
that delicate, slender body seemed as if it could bear noth- 
ing : it afflicted Herman deeply that he was the cause of it. 

“ O this is the whole of it,” said Count Frederick ; “ he 
will soon recover the use of his hand, and in the mean time he 
will be well nursed here ; they have taken care of him for a 
couple of weeks already. Yes, I have a personal feeling 
against him : it is so pitiable to wish to be what one calls a 
noblesse^ to wear out the carpets for an invitation, where one 
has not even clothes to appear in. Rather a good tailor than 
a poor gentleman. 

The sick man lay in a fever ; Fru Bager had left ; she had 
lately visited him. Many thoughts passed through his fever- 
ish brain. 

“ My hand useless ! Music is over ! O my God, how un- 
fortunate I am ! What will my future life now be 1 ” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE ORGAN PLAYER. 

T his is a punishment because I have come here to Funen 
against my grandmother’s commands,” said Herman, 
whom the upsetting of the carriage troubled in a high degree ; 
“ this is a punishment because I would drive, and have never 
learned to do so.” 

“ My dear friend,” said the old Count, “ such a thing might 
have happened to the best coachman. Come with me, you 
shall see my orchard ; I will show it you myself, and I must 
tell you that it is my pride ; persons often come here from a 
great distance to see it.” 

They then went into the garden ; it was the day after the 
driving party. As they came into one of the side walks they 
saw two ladies, accompanied by the gardener. 

“They are certainly strangers, as the gardener is with 
them,” said the Count ; “ many come here to see my fruit- 
trees, and how the whole garden is laid out.” 

When they came nearer, they saw that both the ladies were 
old. The elder of the two, a little broad-shouldered woman, 
with a bold face, which had certainly once been handsome, 
stepped briskly up towards the Count. She was dressed in a 
white travelling-cloak, and had a sort of turban on her head, 
of the same stuff as Beatrice Cenci’s costume : — it was Baron 
Herman’s grandmother. She had, contrary to her intentions, 
left Holstein, and as she passed the Count’s house on her way 
home, had ordered the carriage to stop, and descended, in or- 
der to view the grounds and garden., 

“You, Sir Count, I did not intend to see,” said she ; “but 
your fruit-trees, and your hot-beds. You too would cer- 
tainly rather be free from visitors ; one only troubles the 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


38 

Other ; but now we are here, and the fault lies with neither 
of us.” 

The Count, surprised and perplexed, on account of her sud- 
den appearance directly before her grandson, who had been 
prohibited from coming to Funen, and was his guest, stam- 
mered forth a few words in a perplexed manner, and naturally 
avoided presenting them to each other. 

Herman knew his grandmother directly, on their first salu- 
tation ; she, on the contrary, did not recognize him. It was 
in his sixth year when he was with her, and since that time she 
had seen him but for a few days, in his ninth year ; now, as 
we know, he had grown to man’s estate, and had a fine black 
beard and manly features. 

The Count insisted on accompanying them instead of the 
gardener, and added, that the ladies would, he was sure, do 
them the honor to stay to dinner, which the Baroness refused 
in the most positive manner. She, however, took his arm, and 
they went into the nursery-ground. Herman recovered him- 
self, nay, even became eloquent, and the old lady seemed to 
be pleased with him. 

“You do not want oratorical powers,” said she; “but do 
not imagine that I believe all you say ; I do not believe peo- 
ple who have eyes like yours ! The Black Sea is deceitful, 
they say.” 

An involuntary feeling that he had been recognized drove 
the blood immediately into Herman’s cheeks ; at the same 
moment a servant came and informed the Count that the Or- 
gan Man, the father of the new-born child, had been sent up 
to the manor by the magistrate, and that they were all in the 
billiard-room. The Count gave the old lady a short account 
of what had occurred. 

“ Poor child ! ” was all that she said, but her laughing face 
became sad, and tears came into her eyes. “ I shall not dine 
with you,” said she ; “ but I will certainly attend the examina- 
tion of the man. I may perhaps be able to ward off a blow, 
if he should run the gauntlet.” 

She accompanied the Count, and Herman offered his arm 
to her companion, a genteel, but not very young person. She 
was a Madame Krone, a widow ; she w^as mild, phlegmatic, 


THE ORGAN PLAYER. 


39 

and discreet ; formed, as it were, to live with the old lady, 
who found pleasure in treating her superciliously, in teaching 
her, and yet now and then be obliged to give way to her. 

The only — if one may call it so — characteristic room in 
the whole manor-house, was the billiard-room, for here the 
gentlemen assembled after dinner,, and smoked, chatted, and 
played. Here, in the gray, painted walls were twelve parti- 
colored gilt fields, walled ^n, wherein were projecting stags’ 
heads carved in wood, of a natural size, with the real horns of 
that splendid animal, which had been shed centuries before. 
Some had thirteen, others fifteen points on the antlers, all 
richly gilt ; they had once adorned the armory in the original 
ancient manor-house. Old arms were hung up between the 
windows, and on the opposite wall, along which was a sofa the 
whole breadth of the room, there hung two old portraits of 
ladies belonging to the family, both painted as shepherdesses, 
and each with a little lamb, which she held by a garland of 
flowers. The billiard-table stood in the middle of the room. 

The chief person now here was the Organ Man ; he had 
been to the magistrate of the district, and there made a dec- 
laration ; his wife had left Nyborg during that dreadful 
weather, whilst he was playing in the inn, and had been seized 
with the pains incidental to her case. She knew the deserted 
part of the building well, and as she was nearest to it, she had 
made her way thither, given birth to her child, and drawn her 
last breath there. The body was to be buried at the expense 
of the parish ; the father knew that the young Count and his 
friends had taken care of the child, and now we shall hear a 
little about its parents. 

The Organ Man stood in the middle of the floor when the 
party entered the room from the garden. The poor man had 
on a threadbare coat of a fashionable cut, but one could see 
immediately that it had been rnade for a stouter person than 
himself, as it hung much too loose on him. A red velvet 
waistcoat, with a broad binding, evidently put on at a later 
period to cover the ragged edges, and a pair of well-worn, 
shining trousers, were the most striking parts of his dress ; 
his cap, which he held in his hand, was embroidered with 
woolen braid, and had a long woolen tassel. His face was 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


40 

pale, and the unsteady look of his eye, as he endeavored to 
fix it on the ceiling with a visionary stare, seemed to indicate 
a striving after repose ; a cunning smile played around his 
mouth ; one saw through his glassy eyes, as it were, right into 
the man, and yet one saw nothing. He was told to give an 
account of himself, and with many gestures, and in a highly 
affected manner, he began to relate his life and adventures. 

“ I was born in the Imperial City, by the Danube. My 
father was an actor at the theatre in Vienna, but he did not 
play any great parts ; he brought in a letter or a message, or 
stood as a herald. I never got permission to go on the stage. 
He had observed an immense talent in me, and that he would 
not have awakened, so that I almost believe there was a little 
jealousy in the business. The son must not be the first where 
the father was but an attendant — so I was put out ap- 
prentice to a painter. I had certainly an unusual talent, and 
much sensibility, and, therefore, felt myself mortified by de- 
grading treatment, which was carried to that degree that they 
made me take care of a child, sit with it and stick a rattle in 
its mouth ; so I ran away, — that was just a year before the 
expiration of my term, and I became a strolling player. I had 
many happy moments, but, also, many vexations. My talents 
were too great for a little boarded floor ; my movements and 
action, which were suitable for the theatre in Vienna, la Scala, 
or St. Carlo, were ridiculous on a small stage. High tragedy 
approximates nearest to the comical ; I was laughed off, be- 
cause I was born for something greater. Yes, one can, like 
you, gentlemen, laugh j I myself have laughed at it.” 

“ And so you became an organ player ? ” asked Frederick. 

“No, I had so many talents, which, each by itself, if de- 
veloped and encouraged, might have placed me on no mean 
footing in society ; I was in an uncertainty as to what talent 
I should avail myself of. I could paint, write verses, and 
sew stage costumes ; I am convinced that if I had been 
born and educated in Paris, I should have been one of the 
first man-milliners ! I could cut out the prettiest things in 
paper with a pair of scissors ; that I could do even when a 
child, and in many families they still preserve my clipped pa- 
pers. I now became manager of a theatrum mundi. There 


THE ORGAN PLAYER, 


41 

were really highly interesting things to be seen ; the majority 
were taken from Napoleon’s life; but they did not fill the 
house, so I was obliged to leave the theatre in the lurch — 
and stood — yes, I assure you, stood with bare legs in my 
boots, and the wide world before me ! ” 

“ And your wife accompanied you ? ” asked the old Count. 
“I was unmarried then. It was wondrously long before 
the feeling of love became awakened in me. From this, one 
may well imagine that no great qualities were implanted in 
me, as it is well known that all real geniuses have very in- 
flammable hearts. I cannot say anything about this, but 
in nature there are always found exceptions enough ? I 
travelled to Norway, and became private tutor to four pupils.” 
“ Private tutor ! but what did you teach them .? ” 

“Teach ! I taught them in point of fact everything, for they 
knew nothing, and I myself was extremely diligent. I read 
over every morning what I had to examine them in ; and I 
often said to them, ‘ To-day we shall have a very difficult les- 
son ; how long have you studied it ? I, myself, read for a whole 
hour.’ They learned geography very well, particularly about 
Vienna. I fell in love with the eldest of my pupils, and her 
father drove me away ; so I went to Russia, and read lectures. 
I read from Schiller and Goethe, but they were nothing to the 
Russians. They cannot have understood it, for they hissed 
both authors ; that is to say, I had to stand the brunt of the 
hisses. Two years afterwards I returned to that ‘proud Nor- 
way,’ where I again met with Stella. Yes, my pupil’s name 
was Stella. Is it not a pretty name ? The father was dead, 
the children separated ; she attached herself to me, became 
my wife, and so we travelled to Copenhagen, where we have 
experienced two severe winters ; but we could not succeed, 
and so I took to the organ, for we intended to go to the Impe- 
rial City. Death took her to a better city.” 

The Organ Man ceased his affected narration, and pressed 
the woolen tassel of his cap firmly to his eyes, for he actually 
shed tears. 

“ Much of what you have just told us is certainly not true ; 
eh ? ” said the elder Count. 

‘ Most of it, your Excellence. It is truth and fiction, as the 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


42 

great Goethe says of his own life and adventures ; and yet no 
one calls him a liar. I have the talent of being able to groups 
and I have done so here.’^ 

“ Only hear ! ” said the old lady, who had listened silently 
to his long narrative, and now went straight up to the man. 
“Your story is a made-up one throughout,” she added; 
“ there is something silly in your whole person, and I am not 
to be made a fool of by you. I shall take care of the child, 
however ; but I will not have your visits. I will not have any 
letter-writing, nor any claims upon it, should the child turn 
out an honest man.” 

“ But it is a girl,” said Herman. 

“ Well, Mr. Jackanapes ! then I shall make a wife for you 
of her,” was her answer. 

“ It is really kind,” said Frederick, “ that your ladyship 
will take care of the child. I only hope you may not re- 
gret it.” 

“ That you will leave to me,” answered the old lady, with a 
slight toss of her head, and she laughed. 

“ I must, however, tell you, that we young men have sub- 
scribed together for the support of the child during its early 
years. He yonder, the tutor, and candidatus theologiæ, is 
book-keeper ; he is the child’s guardian, and the child itself 
is sent to Canute Caspersen’s widow.” 

“ That is more reasonable than I should have thought you 
could have been,” she answered. “ The theologian I don’t 
know. But Caspersen’s widow can remove to my house, for I 
will have the superintendence of the child. And don’t be- 
lieve, gentlemen, that you shall go free from paying your con- 
tribution. I will have board wages for it. Each of you shall 
pay a penny yearly for the nurse, and a half-penny for the 
child ; and that I shall lay aside against my Christmas-eve. 
It is my serious intention ; and so it must be. Is it not so. 
Sir Count ? We two old folks must hold together ; and 
now I must be off. I shall send the carriage this evening for 
the nurse and child ; but the penny directly, and the half- 
penny too.” 

“ We are four,” said Frederick, “ therefore it will be just a 
groat and a half-penny. Here is a groat and a penny ; I have 
not a half-penny, but you ought to have interest.” 


THE ORGAN FLA YER, 


43 

“No foolery ! ” said the old lady ; “ I shall send you your 
half-penny ; it may perhaps be a lucky one to you, so take 
care of it ; ” and then she nodded kindly to them all, looked 
for a moment at the Organ Man, and said to him, “ I advise 
you to sell that story you told us ; you will find some one fool 
enough to buy it ! ” She clapped Herman on the shoulder, 
and went away with her companion, Madame Krone, at the 
same time waving her hand to the old Count and Frederick, 
who would accompany her. 

This was the Grandmother, the Funen original, as they 
called her. She had made a peculiar, but favorable, impres- 
sion on Herman, who if she had remained much longer would 
certainly have said, “ I am your grandson.” 

Long after she was gone this thought passed through his 
mind : “ It is not right of me to be here against her com- 
mand, and without her knowledge.” It was continually haunt- 
ing him, and pained him ; “ I will ride over and visit her. 
There must, however, be an end to this state of things between 
us. AVhat a strange caprice of hers, that she will not see me ; 
I who never injured or insulted her. There is certainly some 
heart under that strange shell.” 

His determination was taken, yet he, nevertheless, told it to 
Count Frederick, who immediately advised him not to take 
such a step ; but he afterwards inclined to his opinion, though 
he at the same time requested to accompany him on this 
visit, as the storm might, perhaps, be averted by his pres- 
ence. 

“This evening our little foster-daughter is to be delivered 
up to her new guardian ; to-morrow morning we must be out 
shooting, and after lunch we will ride over to see if the little 
thing has arrived safe, for we will not say a word here at home 
about our intended trip.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE VISIT TO THE GRANDMOTHER. 

LITTLE vessel with several passengers, on their way to 



Jr\ Kiel, was seen driving along before a good wind, in the 
fresh undulating sea, under Ly Island. The passengers were 
sitting around the provision basket ; nor was table music want- 
ing, for an Organ Man sat there and played “ Noch einmal 
die schone Gegend.” It was the father of the new-born child, 
whose history we have heard, and who now left the island that 
contained his dead wife and living daughter. Not only his 
whole person, every word — even his thoughts — were affected 
and extravagant j yet there was a sorrowful string that vibrated 
in his breast at that moment, but no one could read it in his 
face, upon which was a foolish sentimentality that appeared 
to be assumed, by way of mockery of the melancholy tune. 
None of the passengers knew what his thoughts were; he had 
not yet told them his history, nor grouped it for them. One 
of the chapters was concluded in Funen. 

One could see the vessel as it sailed alone from the high- 
road, and here Count Frederick and Baron Herman were just 
riding at the time, to tempt their fate at the old lady’s. There 
were hedgerows on both sides of the way, and it was only 
when they’ passed a gate that they could get a peep into the 
fields. A messenger on horseback, from the old lady, met 
them on the way, and delivered a small but bulky letter to 
Count Frederick. 

“ Perhaps an invitation ! no ; what is it ? a half penny, a 
common copper half-penny. It is a dear ride, so many 
miles alone to deliver a single half-penny.” The letter was 
as follows : — 

“ Sir Count, one must pay one’s debts ; herewith I send 
you the half-penny, and request a receipt. 


THE VISIT TO THE GRANDMOTHER, 


45 

“ P. S. The child has arrived ; a very nice child it is j 
the nurse is a little too sensitive, but a very respectable 
woman. Dorothea.” 

Frederick turned to the messenger: — 

“ I shall deliver the receipt myself, as I am riding thither ; ” 
and he now put his horse into a gallop : Herman spurred his, 
and they hurried off. 

The exterior of the mansion afforded a rich subject for a 
painter. The old stones which served as gate-posts were over- 
grown with wild hops, the tendrils of which ran up over the 
thatched roof, which on the side next the road reached to the 
ground, and was covered with moss and house-leek ; forming 
such a richness and variety of color as may be seen on a 
painter’s palette. Opposite the straw roof was a yellow clay 
slope, from which hung wild rose-bushes, with their red hips. 
In the centre stood the main building, the walls of which were 
supported by thick brick pillars ; but one did not see much 
of the red bricks in that half church-like building. They 
were hidden as with a curtain of close ivy, which grew fresh 
and luxuriantly up the roof, nay, even twined itself around the 
chimney. The side buildings were of frame-work, that is, 
they were of wood and brick-work \ the projecting wings were 
covered with wild vines, which now, in the autumn, showed 
their vermilion-colored leaves to the greatest advantage. 
Here was window close by window, from the top to the bot- 
tom through two stories ; the place looked quite like a large 
conservatory, and for that reason the whole mansion was gen- 
erally called in the neighborhood, the greenhouse'^ 

In the summer time palms, cypresses, and cactus stood out- 
side in large tubs, and it was worth while to see the beautiful 
water-lilies that flowered here : they almost covered two long 
ponds, the remains of the old moat. The mansion lay in a 
wilderness of verdure ; it was as if grown over and around 
with white and red thorn, linden-trees, chestnuts, and buck- 
thorn. 

It must be allowed that the stranger was right who once 
said, it looked like “ the palace in the sleeping forest,” only a 
beauty was wanting therein. 


46 the two baronesses. 

Perhaps the little girl now there might grow up such a 
one. 

Frederick and Herman were announced and admitted. 
Having first passed through a passage where two vines were 
trained through an open pane, and formed a whole leafy sa- 
loon covered with large bunches of grapes, they entered a 
a small cabinet, where two trees in tubs, grown round with 
moss, stood like sentinels at the door. Every conceivable 
color glowed upon their branches, and yet there was neither 
flower nor leaf, they were two artificial trees, covered all over 
with stuffed humming-birds, so shiningly beautiful, in red and 
green, in gold and colors, that regarded for the moment, the 
whole looked like richly beaming flowers. A double curtain 
hung down before the door ; it drew aside, and one was in the 
Grandmother’s sitting-room. Here, also, it looked like a con- 
servatory ; along the walls stood long, small tin boxes, in 
which evergreens were planted, and trained over a trellis work 
of fine canes. They formed an espalier, a living screen for 
the portraits, with which the walls behind were hung ; the 
fresh green leaves hid the frames, and for the most part the 
figures also ; it was only before the faces that there was a 
larger opening through the foliage. 

“ I have put my husband’s forefathers in flower-pots,” said 
the old lady. “ Look at the commodore there, — one cannot 
find the star now, it has got a covering ; what strange eyes he 
makes behind the green leaves ! I erect an order of merit for 
the dead, but with living foliage. The fair lady there with the 
parrot looks pleased enough at it, but especially the parrot. 
But it lb well you have come ; you are both of you students, 
and well rtad. Here I sit and dispute with Madame Krone, 
who is a very excellent woman, but she does not know geog- 
raphy, and that is certainly the science one can least of all do 
without. Our geography always lies here on the table, that 
we may refer to it when we read the newspapers, and know 
where we are : I always use it in Copenhagen, when I read 
the play-bills. If the scene, for instance, be laid in Milan, I 
refer to the book, — ‘ Milan, a large Cathedral ; ’ — so I 
know that. If one goes to the theatre, there the geography 
is just as useful as the play-bill, for one must know where 
one is.” 


THE VISIT TO THE GRANDMOTHER. 


47 

“ Yes,” said Madame Krone ; “ but just now my gracious 
lady will have it that Jutland is united with Norway, and that 
can never be ; Jutland is on the other side of Funen, and 
Norway is a long voyage above Elsinore. Have I not sailed 
up there myself from Copenhagen "i ” 

“ But I will have a suspension bridge,” said the old lady. 
“ Madame Krone does not know that Jutland ends in a point, 
and from that point, which is called Skagen, they should make 
the junction.” 

“ But the distance is pretty great,” said Frederick, “ and 
the open sea runs between, full eighteen Danish^ miles 
across ! ” 

“ I know it ; but it is for that reason I will have it that they 
shall make a suspension bridge ; then the post might go in 
the winter, and they could send corn in, and many other use- 
ful things besides. It is always good for lands to be joined 
together.” 

“ But on what should that bridge hang.? ” asked Frederick. 

“ On chains,” said the lady. “ They must make them fast to 
the Norwegian rocks, build a tower on Skagen, and then hang 
the bridge between.” 

“But, according to the laws of gravitation, the chains 
would, by dint of their own weight, sink deep into the sea! ” 

“ Then they must be braced tighter ! ” said the old lady. 
“ The engineer must understand that ! Have we not such a 
one in Copenhagen ? let him stretch them well out, and then 
it will hang. But Madame Krone cannot understand that ; 
she will have it that the way to Norway is from Elsinore. But 
why is the other one there laughing ? Him I mean with the 
beautiful eyes ! Well, laugh on, your teeth are very good, and 
laughing suits you ; an honest mind at least lies in the teeth 
— further in I shall not go — so give me your hand ! ” She 
gave him hers, shook his, and said : “ Thanks, comrade I and 
the water-splasher there also,” she added, and gave her hand 
to Count Frederick, saying, “ I beg pardon. Sir Count, but 
you’re a little foolish and sea-mad ! You shall both have a 
little present before you go ; but you have leave to stay awhile 
yet.” 

1 Nearly eighty miles English. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


48 

“ You say I have an honest mind, as far as my teeth,” said 
Herman. “ I have also one within, and that I will prove to 
you. You know not what an unutterable desire I have had 
for many years to see Funen. My friend there persuaded me 
to make one of the sailing party hither ; we have both passed 
our college examinations with success, and in such cases one 
does not begin to read again directly. We knew that you 
were in Holstein, but it never came into my mind that you 
would return so suddenly. I was certain that I should not 
meet with you, and in a few days would have been again in 
Copenhagen. Eveiy^thing has happened contrary to expecta- 
tion. You have made so good an impression on me that it 
would be dishonorable not to tell you whom you have seen, 
whom you have so kindly taken by the hand. I am Herman, 
dear Grandmother ! ” 

The old lady had looked at him intently from the begin- 
ning of his speech, and her face had become more and more 
serious \ she now gave her head a toss, and exclaimed, — 

“ I know it ! I knew it, but yet I would not know it ! 
They say I am a strange creature, so what should I know it 
for .? ” 

“ Did you know him ? ” asked Frederick. “ But how was 
that possible ? ” 

“ Sailor ! ” said she ; and there was something peculiar in 
the tone which might either be of jest or anger. “ Come, now 
you shall have the presents ; ” and she beckoned to her grand- 
son, but stopped. “ No, a Count is more than a Baron ; be- 
sides, you belong, as one may say, to the house. Sir Count,” 
and she drew Frederick with her into the first room. Here 
she looked on all sides, and suddenly cast her eyes on the tree 
with the variegated humming-birds. “ Would you like that ? 
You are yourself a bird, a water-bird, and such a one is want- 
ing at the manor. Do you like it ? But you must take it 
with you directly ; for I tell you, that from the moment you 
accept it, it must not remain any longer in my house ! ” 

Then you would have me ride with it before me on my 
horse,” said Frederick ; “ but that is not possible, so I must 
lose your handsome present.” 

“ Claus can ride with it,” said she. “ It is a fine Shrove- . 


THE VISIT TO THE GRANDMOTHER. 


49 

tide rod,^ is it not? And a Shrovetide rod might do you 
good.” 

She turned her back on him, and went into the next 
room. 

“ Now he has got his rod,” said she, turning to Herman, 

you shall have your present ! ” 

She opened the door of the next room, Herman followed 
her, and the door was closed. 

“ Why have you brought him over here. Sir Count ? ” said 
Madame Krone ] the old lady is angry, extremely angry. I 
know her face ! ” 

“ No, she is not angry,” said Frederick ; “ she received him 
in the most amiable manner, and we are both to have pres- 
ents. Besides, what foolish idea is that of hers, that she will 
not see her grandson, a young man whom every one is fond 
of, and must respect.” 

“ You don’t know that — you don’t know her. Pardon me. 
Sir Count, that I speak thus. She is good and benevolent, 
better than the world is in general, but she has her strange 
whims, and one must put up with them.” 

“ Is it true, as folks say,” asked Frederick, “ that she lately 
made a velvet collar for you, Madame Krone, and embroid- 
ered her own name on it, — and that you are to wear it, but 
which you of course will not ? ” 

“Yes, they tell such stories; but others which have more 
of truth in them, and are just as amusing, if you will, but 
which bear witness to her goodness of heart, they do not 
tell.” 

“ Yes, they do,” said Frederick ; “ the Councilor’s lady 
told me one no later than yesterday, which is both comical 
and touching. You also play a part in it, although a secon- 
dary one. But you shall hear. The old lady was passing a 
wretched house down in the village, where an old woman, who 
lives with the owner of the house, and looks after it, stood 
and washed her linen ; it was a single piece. 

1 In Denmark it is the custom on Shrove Tuesday to beat one’s friends 
out of their beds with a rod ; this practice, however, is not carried out, 
as, instead of a birch rod, a bouquet of artificial flowers is generally laid 
within the bed-chamber door. 

4 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


50 

“ ‘ How many have you of that sort ? ’ asked the old 
lady. 

“ ‘ God help me ! ’ said the old woman, ‘ I have only this 
one.’ 

“ ‘ Every decent woman ought to have six ! ’ said the old 
lady. 

“ ‘ Yes ; God help me ! ’ repeated the old woman. 

“So the old lady set off directly to Svendborg, bought 
some linen, and made five more. You know the story very 
well ! and the old woman was happy, and the Baroness also, 
and she then said : — 

“ ‘ If I can do so much good for that bit of money, and get 
a little needlework, then I have more pleasure of the same 
kind. Tell me, dame,’ said she, ‘ are there more in the vil- 
lage who have not six pieces of linen ? ’ 

“ ‘Yes, God knows there are ! ’ said the old woman. 

“ ‘ Well, then, send them all to me.’ 

“ The Baroness herself told the story from the beginning, 
and she said, ‘ there came so many persons to me, — girls and 
M'omen, that I went to Svendborg, and bought linen, and 
Madame Krone and I sewed the whole day and half the 
night, during a fortnight, and now all the girls and women in 
the village have six.’ ” 

“But is that anything to make a jest of?” said Madame 
Krone ; “ is it not kind — is it not good ? even if it be some- 
thing out of the way ? ” 

The grandmother and grandson came just then into the 
room ; both were laughing, and he had a splendid gold watch 
attached to a long chain. 

“ It is that he may know how time goes, and that one must 
do something, and not trifle it away. You, too, may learn a 
little from it,” said the Grandmother to Frederick. 

She and Herman, as we have said, both came in laughing, 
but it was too clearly depicted on their faces that something 
had happened ; that feelings quite different from such as call 
forth a smile were fermenting within. 

“Now we should see our little foster-daughter,” said Fred- 
erick. 

“ She is asleep,” said the old lady, “ and no one must dis- 


THE VISIT TO THE GRANDMOTHER, 5 1 

turb her ; and now I thank you for the honor of the visit,” — 
here she courtesied low. “ Each has got what he ought to 
have, and I have had a great pleasure.” 

Both the gentlemen were now obliged to take leave. The 
groom stood before the door with their horses : they mounted 
and galloped off. 

“Well,” said Frederick, “she is a remarkable woman, — 
we were in reality shown the door ! But you are not in your 
old humor. Has she said anything mortifying? How can 
her words have such an effect on you, a reasonable being ! ” 

“ O no ! ” answered Herman, who became still paler. “ I 
know that ever}^ man has his Achilles’ heel, where he can be 
wounded, and she has found mine, and wounded me. Yet it 
is not her words ; she has touched what I thought the invul- 
nerable part of my heart ! Tell you it, I cannot, — I cannot 
impart it to any one, at least not to-day — not this year. You 
shall, however, be the first to whom I will tell it. But now all 
this must be a secret ; you will give me your hand as an as- 
surance. She has cast a brand into my soul which at this 
moment destroys all pleasure — all happiness ! No, no ! ” he 
shouted violently, “ it is not so — I will preserve my good 
humor ! ” and he spurred his horse. 

Count Frederick, in the greatest astonishment, and uneasy 
at the change that showed itself in his friend’s face, rode side 
by side with him. The old lady’s servant could not keep pace 
with them, but went at what the peasants call “ a jog-trot,” be- 
hind them, as well as he could, as he bore before him on the 
horse the whole of that artificial tree, with the variegated hum- 
ming-birds, which trembled with the motion, and shone in the 
sun with a thousand colors. 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE STREET, AND IN THE BALL-ROOM. 

E will now accompany the friends to Copenhagen ; the 



vv return voyage was much better for them than the voy- 
age out ; it was in November, in what we call our bad season, 
with rain and drizzle ; and with its eternal blasts, one imag- 
ines one’s self in the cavern of the winds. It was in the real, 
Copenhagen November days ; with gray skies, twilight instead 
of daylight, and muddy streets, so that umbrellas and ga- 
loches became a necessary part of the human machine — 
its limit above and below ; added to this, as the only change, 
a raw, thick fog, such as one can positively taste. The whole 
air is a cold damp, which penetrates through the clothes, and 
into the pores of the body : it sheds its clamminess over gate- 
way and door, over the wooden balustrades, and through the 
entrance halls ; one feels one’s self in an element suited for 
frogs, and not for warm-blooded animals. The dustman and 
scavenger’s wagon, with its drenched and ragged driver, who 
helps the dirty servant girl to empty her tub of dirt and 
sweepings into his filthy receptacle, is the bouquet of such a 
Copenhagen November day. 

Eeaving this weather and these streets, we will enter the 
minister’s saloon, and see lights and colors that remind us of 
the summer sun, and we shall breathe there. Orange-trees 
are placed on each side of the broad staircase, which is cov- 
ered with variegated carpeting, fastened with bright brass rods. 
Servants in splendid liveries, with shoes and silk stockings, 
fill the lobby and throw open the large folding-doors ; a mild 
scented air streams towards us, from the lustre, from the chan- 
delier under the ceiling, and from the astral lamps on the 
tables. A suite of rooms thus lighted up lies before us, all 
covered with rich carpets, long, splendid curtains, silk-cush- 


IN THE STREET, AND IN THE BALL-ROOM, 53 

ioned chairs, and velvet-covered sofas, which, impelled by the 
slightest touch, roll to whatever place one would have them. 
Here stand tables with richly bound English and French 
books, engravings, and journals. Paintings hang on the walls, 
and in one room, between the prettily arranged flowers, stands 
a beautiful statue. 

Some of the elder part of the company now go to the card- 
tables, others sit in conversation, or silently watch the groups 
of young ladies whom the gentlemen join, and converse with, 
in a lively and laughing tone, and amongst these Clara is the 
prettiest: one can see that in the mother’s face, which says : 
“ She is my daughter ; eighteen years ago I myself looked 
like her.” Baron Herman is the leader of the conversation, 
which is, if one may call it so, that of repartee, such as we 
read in “ The School for Scandal,” though there is no in- 
tended malice in it ; being a few stories about some well- 
known man, to whom at least one may always attribute stories 
of that kind. Count Frederick and Holger make lively re- 
marks, but Herman is the liveliest ; no one observes the 
gloom that has sunk deep into his soul since his conversation 
with his grandmother ; no one suspects that that laughing 
face can, at home, in solitary moments, wear the expression 
of pain itself ! He stands before Clara ; her eyes shine into 
his soul, and fill it, and he is fascinated. 

“ You have really drawn his picture of whom you spoke? ” 
asked Clara. “ You do it excellently ! you are truly an excel- 
lent man.” 

“ He knows how to take us all off from the wrong side,” 
said Frederick. 

“ And I also ? ” asked Clara. “ You must draw me in car- 
icature ; I shall certainly look frightful ; but it is of no conse- 
quence.” 

“ I know no wrong side to take you from,” said Herman , 
“ I must at least see you oftener, and watch you.” 

“ 1 laugh so much,” said Clara ; “ there you have a sub- 
ject,” and she laughed with her rosy lips, beautiful teeth, and 
sparkling eyes, so that it was still more difficult to catch an 
ugly or comic idea. 

The servants came in with ices, the conversation changed, 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


54 

and the piano sounded. The music-master had obtained per- 
mission for one of his poor pupils, a young girl, to play in that 
high circle. She was very pretty, and had much talent ; a few 
eye-glasses were directed towards her from the card-tables, 
and one old lady rose from her chair, stood a moment by the 
door, and cried, “ Charmant.'' 

“Prettily played,” said Clara; “but she has not a good 
carriage.” 

However, Clara was the only one amongst all the young 
ladies that spoke to the quiet stranger, who, after having fin- 
ished playing, stood in a corner, between the piano and a 
group of other young girls, who showed that they had nothing 
to do with her. 

Clara’s words and kindness enlivened her features, and her 
eyes glistened. Herman approached. Was it for the girl’s 
sake or for Clara’s ? 

It was late in the night, and he was still by Clara’s side, 
when she and her mother got into their carriage. It rolled 
away in the raw damp air ; the fog hung like a close white 
veil over the carriage-windows, and the ladies drew their 
cloaks closer around them. 

“ You had all the young gentlemen about you, Clara,” said 
her mother. “ That is always the case at your age, and with 
your exterior. Be a prudent and sensible child ; and do not 
be hasty. You did not, however, keep yourself quite erect. 
Else it is remarkable how you resemble me, when I was your 
age.” 

“Count Frederick was very amiable,” said Clara, though 
she at the same time really thought of Herman, whose live- 
liness and whose attention to her were not without their ef- 
fect. 

“ Count Frederick is an excellent young man,” said the 
mother ; “and the family is one of the first.” 

There was a pause ; she then kissed Clara, and they stopped 
before their own house. 

Herman ran through the slushy streets in galoches and 
with' an umbrella ; the fine cold rain that fell with the fog 
forced its way into his face, but he did not feel it; all was 
flame within him, all sunlight ; his whole thoughts were bound 


IN TUE STREET, AND IN THE BALL-ROOM. 55 

up in Clara, and yet he did not then know that it was love, — 
his dawning first love. 

We are again at a ball, a great court ball. It is like a 
bright sunshiny day, so splendid is the light ; no flower-bed 
can be more variegated or rich than this vast assembly of red 
uniforms, with stars and orders : the ladies’ dresses are so 
tasteful, so various ; and it is precisely the dresses that the ad- 
miral’s lady is reviewing and talking about with an elder lady, 
whose golden turban, which looks like a saucepan, and her 
blight yellow satin gown, trimmed with blonde, do not betray 
the very best taste. 

The music is excellent ; it even sets the old Excellences’ 
legs in motion, and they think of dances in days of yore. 
The lackeys move like Caryatides, with refreshments, through 
the closest circles ; in a recess of the window stands Clara, 
prettier, perhaps, than she ever was before. She is in a white 
transparent dress, which falls in full, vapor-like folds, as if it 
were woven of air and snow. Small bouquets of moss and 
violets seem as if they were thrown on it. There is, as it 
were, a transparency in the face, in the arm, in the whole fig- 
ure. There is an expression of bliss in that youthfully fresh, 
charming face — a smile that owns more magic than music 
and poetry ; never before has she been so beautiful, never be- 
fore has she smiled more happily, — she is in conversation 
with one of the princes, who leads her to the dance. Fred- 
erick stands not far from her, in a blue velvet court-dress 
with large diamond buttons ; he sees her happy smile, he is 
angry with her without even being able to account to himself 
for it. 

They meet in the dance and part again. Holger enters 
just at this moment. Clara has promised him her hand for 
the third dance, and yet he is the last that arrives ; but we 
must know the reason. 

Holger was yesterday made a gentleman of the bed-cham- 
ber. His tailor has been sewing the whole night and day at 
his uniform, made impossibilities possible, got it ready for this 
ball, and only half an hour ago was it delivered. 

The red gold-embroidered coat sits well ; the tight kersey- 
mere trousers are made to admiration. Holger is strikingly 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


56 

handsome ; and he knows it. This is the first uniform he has 
ever worn ; it is the first title he has received, except that of 
baron by right of birth, and Clara has already discovered him, 
and smiled to him. How much youthful spirit and happiness 
can one heart not find place for! 

Count Frederick, on the contrary, appears all at once to be 
quite dissatisfied. The ball tires him ; Clara’s smile is not 
pleasing to him, and not one dance has she for him. “ Four- 
teen days ago, I was engaged for them all,” — has she said 
with a smile, which he, in his present state of feeling, thought 
was coquettish, — “ and now she dances with Holger 1 ” 

They are a handsome couple, and they are noticed. There 
is to them both a present feeling of, “ the whole world is ours ! 
— all the rest only figure around us ! ” — is it Clara’s smile ; 
is it the music, or the new uniform, that fits so well, or per- 
haps all three, that have their influence ? At this moment it 
is clear to Holger, as it never was before, that he loves 
Clara, that he must tell her so, that he would dance with 
her thus life through ; there is no sorrow, no sickness, nor 
death ! 

They now retire to a saloon ; the champagne explodes. 
Holger is happy as a god, eloquent and gay, and as he again 
enters the ball-room with Clara, his resolution is formed, — 
before the ball is ended she must know his feelings, know 
that he loves her — that this is his first, all-powerful love ! 

He has spirit, and he has a will, that must be acknowl- 
edged \ and at this moment Herman sleeps quietly at home ; 
at this moment Frederick is meditating if he shall, or if he 
shall not, drive Clara to-morrow at noon, with the great sledge 
party to Bellevue. The music of the dance is to the low- 
spirited wretch like surging waves, that make his spirit still 
more a wreck, but the glad and happy they only lift still 
higher. Clara has quite forgotten Herman’s amusing, genial 
pictures, forgotten Frederick’s lively sketches of his sea-trip — 
which she before had listened to with so much delight. Hol- 
ger is the best dancer, the most attentive of all, the most ami- 
able. In the dance which is now to begin he will lead her out. 

With the whole expression of a happy being in his eyes and 
mien, he stands before Clafa, his blood and thoughts like 


IN THE STREET, AND IN THE BALL-ROOM. 57 

champagne: he bows low ; with a jesting smile he then raises 
himself a full inch higher than his wont, and then — is there 
magic at work ? One would think so ! Are men accompa- 
nied by an invisible spirit, good or bad ? At the moment that 
Holger rises, there occurs suddenly, as it were, a transforma- 
tion in him ; his face becomes deeply crimsoned, his move- 
ments are forced ; his words are no longer buoyant ; some- 
thing of importance has happened ; his whole thoughts are 
divided between Clara and — nay, it would sound too terrible 
to pronounce the word suddenly. 

The least causes have often the greatest effects. Holger 
no longer moves as before — he even returns quite preposter- 
ous answers. 

This night he will not propose. Clara still exists for Fred- 
erick, for Herman, for him whom no one knows — for any- 
body. In the midst of fascination’s brightest moment, on the 
eve of love’s bold revelation — yes, perhaps, more than one 
who has been in the same situation, knows the agony with 
which a man loses all his moral courage at such a moment — 
and this Holger has lost : the joys of youth, the pride of his 
new title, of his well-made uniform — all are vanished. Clara 
regards him with an anxious look ; the thought strikes her, — 
the unjust thought — it is the wine ! he has drunk too much 
champagne ! — and the halo around him is extinguished. She 
knows not what injustice she does him ; her eloquence be- 
comes mute ; she involuntarily seeks Count Frederick ; her 
eye meets his, — it is as if he smiled, as if he understood her 
position, — inclination is renewed, and she inclines for Fred- 
erick. Holger creeps behind the window-curtain for a mo- 
ment, and makes his appearance again, but he is no longer 
the same man. The whole affair has been the most unfortu- 
nate, but most innocent situation at a ball that ever happened. 
It is reality’s most fearful prose that has overwhelmed him. 
When a man is to be executed, it is the custom to say, “ he is 
to lose his button,” that is, to lose his head, and Holger has 
lost a button, and with that his head. The brace-button be- 
hind has come off his tight kerseymere inexpressibles — now 
the word is out, and now we can conceive his sudden blush- 
ing, the forced deportment, the distracted thoughts, and the 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


58 

preposterous answers. With that button went courage and 
happiness, and Clara’s rapture ; she accepted Frederick’s in- 
vitation, and they both drove next day in the sledge together 
to Bellevue. The train, consisting of forty-seven sledges, 
went from Amalienborg, the royal residence ; princes, diplo- 
matists, and young noblemen formed the cortege. The bells 
tinkled, the variegated nets fluttered over the horses’ backs, 
and the whips cracked. Frederick, in a bear-skin cloak, with 
seal-skin boots, and fur cap, had Clara in his sledge, and they 
were soon out of the city; the crows flew over the white 
snow, — “ caw, caw',” — every one greets in his own way ; 
where the snow was deepest, there these two were upset ; it 
was like a play. It was a little adventure, it was a splendid 
trip. “ It was an important trip,” said the admiral’s lady — 
and why.^ 

The same evening Frederick wTote to his father that he 
loved Clara, that she had accepted him, and that her excel- 
lent mother had no objection to the match, provided his father 
sanctioned it. 

“ That button,” said Holger, when he heard it, “ that d — d 
button is the cause of the whole ! ” and he fell into deep 
musing. 

Herman tore all his drawings to pieces ; they were too 
ideal, he thought ; everything was far more discordant, far 
uglier. Copenhagen was the most insupportable place, the 
men and women, with very few exceptions, — in fact without 
any, — a collection of caricatures and tediousness. Nay, not 
only Copenhagen, but Sealand, Funen, the whole country was 
insupportable to him. 

Was it Clara’s betrothal that cast this shadow over the 
country and inhabitants, or had that poisonous seed his grand- 
mother’s words had sown in his heart, now shot up and be- 
come an upas-tree, that poisoned all around him? Such 
moments in a mind like Herman’s, nourish thoughts and 
determinations that often decide one’s whole future life. 

The ball-room on a winter forenoon, after a ball, is an un- 
comfortable place ; its lustre is extinguished, the music is 
mute, all the fresh joys of youth are gone, the curtains hang 
heavily with dust, the candles are burnt down in the sconces, 


IN' THE STREET, AND IN THE BALL-ROOM. 59 

the bass-viol, and such like mammoth instruments, lie like 
mummies, and point to a life that was. 

Thus it looked next morning in the royal ball-room : in the 
middle of the floor there lay a shining button, which the 
woman swept away. That button it was that had caused Hoi- 
ger’s heart to look like the ball-room now, — void, uncom- 
fortable, a mausoleum for k button. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


CAROLINE HEIMERANT. 


S we have now followed the three young friends and fel- 



low-travellers, we may as well look after their tutor, or, 
what sounds shorter, Moritz. AVe shall not meet with him at 
court, nor in the great saloons ; his world is Councilor Heim- 
erant’s comfortable parlor. 

Here perhaps we may rest awhile after the many balls. 
Here Caroline was the soul. She lost her mother early, and 
grew up like a boy, with her wild brothers, who were now dis- 
persed about the country; she had caught from them all 
their bold Copenhagen phrases, which, to the initiated, often 
sounded highly strange, from that pretty, lively girl’s mouth. 

The father was one of those good-natured, laughing per- 
sons, who, in the theatre, are a blessing to the farce-writer 
whose piece may happen to be played ; for he laughed on the 
least occasion. In business he was as accurate as a correct 
sum in arithmetic without fractions, and a father with his 
whole soul. The family lived entirely to themselves, formed 
their own fixed family circle, and in this Caroline shone ; they 
knew her excellent qualities, and amused themselves with 
what strangers would, in her, call bad habits. 

As we know, Moritz, the evening before his departure for 
Funen, had proposed, and been accepted, but at the same 
time she declared that he must not let the voyage pass over, 
but that he should have his sail for a few days, as if nothing 
had happened. 

“ AVe will not begin by hanging over and about each other,” 
said she. “ I have seen enough of that with my eldest brother 
and Louisa. Good dear wife she is, but a hanging tree she 
was. Sail, but don’t upset, for I have no desire to be melan- 
choly ; there is no pleasure in it.” 


CAROLINE HEIMERANT. 6 I 

She smiled, but yet there were tears in her eyes ; Moritz 
thought she was charming. 

And Moritz sailed to Funen, as we know, and everything 
that happened to him and the friends there we also know, and 
that he was now again in Copenhagen ; but that he, on his 
arrival, got the first kiss — that we do not know ; but he got 
it, and there was much to tell about, much to say. 

“ Do you think I can keep all the nonsense I have heard ? ” 
said she. “ No, we are now two to bear the burden ; so you 
must take your share.” 

They must also drink thou together, or else she could not 
address him properly when he was to be chid. 

“ You are a strange, blessed being ! ” said he ; “I have of- 
ten thought you resemble Undine.” 

“ That was a very romantic woman you sought out to com- 
pare me to,” said she. “Yes, I am somewhat eccentric, as 
you say, but yet it is that which had made me interesting 
to you ; we two certainly do not resemble each other in the 
least.” 

A friend of hers now came to visit her. 

“ Will you see the fellow ? ” said she. “ He is a little quiet 
yet ; but I shall put him in trim. Next winter he shall run on 
the ice with me. It is so tiresome with many gentlemen. 
When they will accompany me home in the evening, they are 
so afraid because I speak so loud ; and then I must not slide 
on the ice when there are boys. It is pleasant to be a street- 
boy now and then. ‘ Off the slide 1 ^ I shout, and slide 
away.” 

“ If one did not know you, Caroline,” said Moritz, “ one 
might ” — 

“ She knows me better than you do. We have gone to 
school together ; we went in the month of March with cloaks, 
muffs, and a large parasol, which we held before us against 
the wind, and the sun shone on our necks, so that our shad- 
ows were in the parasol ; at every street corner, on the right 
side, we changed to carry it, and we held it straight before us, 
and not before our faces, for the wind obliged us to do so. 
And so you think that she does not know me ! It is more for 
two persons to go under one parasol than to exchange gold 


62 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


rings. Can you understand that ? ” And she laughed with 
her eyes as well as her mouth. 

All the servants were fondly attached to her, for she w'as 
kind-hearted, and always spoke so confidentially with them ; 
the old serving-man would go through fire and water for her ; 
but then she always nodded so kindly to him, even at the great 
party that was given once a year, and where there were privy 
councilors, and even the head of the police. “ Not that look, 
George,” she would then say ; “ besides, I am betrothed.” 
For the servant-girls she wrote letters and verses to their 
sweethearts. She had also her own language for the servants. 
“ You are a slave this evening at nine o’clock,” sufficed for 
George. “ You will come at that time and fetch me.” No 
one in the theatre was more easily affected by a tragedy than 
she ; no one shed more tears at the conclusion of an affecting 
book, and at the same moment she could jest at it. “ I have 
a wonderfully great talent for the sentimental,” she would say ; 
“ if I would only perfect myself in it, I might become a salt- 
spring for the country.” Her prettiest talent was, however, 
the performance of small pieces of music and accompaniments 
to songs on the piano. It is true she had no great power of 
voice, but all that deep feeling which a poem inspired her with, 
she seized directly, and it ran through the song ; it was a 
pleasure to hear her perform Reichardt’s melodies to Goethe’s 
poems. Humor was, however, as we have said, the most pre- 
dominant in her. Moritz’s adventures in Funen, and the 
drawing of lots as to who should be the little child’s father, 
she thought at once merry and touching ; it amused her to tell 
acquaintances when Moritz could overhear her : “ My be- 
trothed has a little daughter in Funen.” 

“ My dear girl,” said he, “ you must really tell the whole 
story, or don’t tell such things about me.” 

“ He is afraid of his reputation,” cried she, laughing. 

On her chefonier she had a collection of small figures : two 
game-cocks made of feathers, and a sailing-vessel of blown- 
glass, but the prettiest were five small porcelain figures, rep- 
resenting Cupid in different characters. First the naked little 
fellow with bow and quiver of arrows ; then Cupid as a chim- 
ney-sweep with a ladder ; then as an officer with a general’s 


CAROLINE HEIMERANT. 


63 

hat on his head, a sword and belt round his waist, and large 
riding-boots on — otherwise he was naked ; number four, as 
a watchman with his morning star and helmet-hat ; number 
five, as a sailor with a glazed hat, short jacket, and an oar in 
his hand. 

“ You only want him a priest,’’ said her friend. 

“ There I have Moritz. He is a large edition to be sure, 
but then he is also more dressed.” 

“ You will really resemble the old Baroness in Funen,” 
said he \ “ you speak almost like her, and have so many of 
her ways ; it may do well enough now that you are young, and 
it may suit well enough yet, because I myself am blind in 
these days of betrothal ; but when you become old and ” — 

“ I shall be quiet and tiresome enough,” said she ; “ when 
you get me up to the Faroe Islands or over to Bornholm, then 
you will see how considerate and tiresome I shall be. Then 
you will wish me my humor back again.” 

The winter was past : it was one evening in the early spring, 
and Caroline, like all other persons, had caught a cold. 

“ Yes, and in such a degree,” said she, “ that I must use 
sheets, and not pocket-handkerchiefs.” 

Moritz was in a bad humor, and vexed himself because 
Herman, whom he was fond of, and who was so good and 
clever, had got, as Moritz expressed himself, one of his Funen 
grandmother’s mad fits. Herman had suddenly ceased to 
study, and would be a painter, or — what he had most at heart 
— he would go to Italy. It is true he had six hundred dol- 
lars a year secured to him, but how far would that sum go 
abroad, and what was his future life likely to be if his grand- 
mother disinherited him ? 

“ I have preached to him,” said Moritz, “ but it is of no avail. 
Everything is in readiness for his departure. And it is cer- 
tainly the General who is so fond of him, who has spoken so 
well of him to the King, and got permission for him to go 
with the frigate which sails to-morrow for the Mediterranean. 
He will quite spoil his future prospects ! spoil everything with 
his grandmother. But it is some of her nature that is coming 
out, and I have told him so.” 

“I am not the cause of it,” said Caroline ; *‘you must not 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


64 

look so angrily at me. If it be from an unfortunate love to 
me, then it is you yourself who are the cause ; why has he 
been allowed to see me, and learned to know my matchless 
amiability ? ” 

Moritz looked gravely at her, on account of this jest, now 
that he was in such low spirits ; she smiled, and imprinted a 
kiss on his brow. ‘‘ Do not take it so seriously to heart,” said 
she ; “ of what use can it be if I were also to sit and hang 
my head down ? One must suffer and one must die, is what I 
always say.” 

Herman was to go on board this very evening ; he had pre- 
pared himself very quietly for his voyage during the few last 
weeks. We will not describe his leave-taking of his friends ; 
the few he has he hastens away from as if he were going on 
a journey for two or three days. We will not look into the 
pain which dwells within him. Who misses him here ? who 
thinks of him when, in the early morning hour, they weigh 
anchor in the roads ? — not Clara, — no, Caroline Heimerant. 
She thinks of his sorrows, thinks of the beautiful Clara, and 
excuses her ; one can love but one^ and she loves Count Fred- 
erick. 

No one speaks more about Herman ; but of the first violets 
and of the storks that had come ; of the new operas that 
would still be performed before the close of the season. The 
summer comes, the harvest succeeds, and the year’s wheel has 
revolved once more since the four friends sat together in rain 
and storm, with full glasses, and adopted their little daughter. 
We will turn the year’s wheel four times more, and Clara is a 
countess ; Holger is attached to the embassy in Stockholm ; 
and Moritz, — yes, Moritz, he is also gone ; he has got a liv- 
ing at Halligers, on the coast of Slesvig ; he has now been 
there full six months, and in the approaching harvest will 
come to fetch his bride. She is the only one of our acquaint- 
ances who still remains in Copenhagen, pretty, lively, and jest- 
ing as ever. She has borrowed a lover in Moritz’s absence, 
she says ; “ quite a little one ! ” it is a child, a boy four years 
of age, Moritz’s sister’s son. The mother is a widow, and has 
gone to Jutland this summer ; the little fellow does not miss 
her, for he clings with his whole heart to Caroline. “ She 


CAROLINE HEIMERANT. 


65 

does not know how to talk to children ! ” said Moritz fre- 
quently, thereby showing how little he knew about them. 
Children are most amused with new expressions, and being 
spoken to in an unusual manner. She was just as zealous in 
painting the boy’s top and fastening the lash to his whip as 
she was m sewing for her approaching marriage. If she fell 
short of stones, she took “ The Advertiser ” and read for him, 
with a strong emphasis and pleasure, all the dishes that it 
was stated one could get at the dining-rooms, and every dish 
was for the little boy, as the most beautiful strophe in a poem 
is for us. The same paper in which she read to him ended 
its service as a three-cornered hat, or a boat, in which he 
could sail over and fetch Moritz. 

She dressed herself and the boy out, and then they formed 
a tableau^ and no one saw it except Ragatzo, the old dog, and 
he was so fat and lazy, so unsuited to play with, that he lay 
down to rest, even when the sword was bound round his body, 
and he, Caroline, and the little boy, were to play a band of 
robbers. These plays often caused her to sit up long after 
midnight, but then her fingers plied the needle quicker, and 
the scissors too ; there was both woolen and linen in prepara- 
tion for the parsonage at the Halligers. At the same time 
she managed the house for her father, with one girl. Every- 
thing went on well ; there was time both to play and jest, at 
least so it appeared. The autumn came, and the little boy’s 
mother. Hedevig, was to come in the course of a fortnight, 
but Moritz was expected still earlier. Two evenings before 
his arrival, the little boy was taken ill, very ill, and Caroline 
sat up with him, and nursed him ; she was unceasing in her 
attentions to him. The doctor could not as yet say what ailed 
the child. He would always have Caroline with him ; she 
sat up with him again the next night : it was typhus. The 
doctor had just pronounced this to be the child’s illness when 
Moritz arrived. He was to remain some weeks, then the 
marriage was to take place, and directly afterwards he was to 
depart with his fair bride to the Halligers, by the foaming 
Baltic. The joy of meeting was mutual ; they were both af- 
flicted on account of the little boy, whose mother was absent, 
and whose only joy he was. 

5 


66 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


The child’s bed stood in Caroline’s chamber, for she could 
not leave the sick boy ; she also was attacked, and lay suffer- 
ing when they bore the little child, as a corpse, out of her 
chamber. 

Moritz had come with his heart full of summer’s pleasures ; 
for months and weeks these days had shone before him as the 
days of happiness, and now he sat beside — perhaps a death- 
bed. It was a wet, raw night, one of the coldest that the au- 
tumn had yet brought with it ; the windows stood open, and 
the little dead boy lay in an adjoining room. Caroline had 
fallen asleep with her head on Moritz’s arm ; he could not 
find in his heart to withdraw it, although it pained him. Her 
long hair had fallen down over her forehead, and a hectic 
flush stained her cheeks. It was quite still, and in the mid- 
dle of the night, when the door of the room in which the little 
dead boy lay sprang suddenly open. At any other time there 
would have been nothing striking in it ; the door had often 
sprung open in this way, but that it should occur this night 
was somewhat strange. The lamp was placed so that the 
light should not fall on the face of the sufferer, and it now cast 
its whole light on the face of the dead child, which lay there 
clothed in white, and with a wreath of flowers around its head. 
Caroline opened her eyes at that moment, and gazed on it. 
“ Yes, I knew well that he was dead,” she said, in a low voice. 

I shall also die, but do not grieve for me. I once thought 
it would be so terrible, but now I do not think it at all so. I 
can even bear the thought that you remain behind j it seems 
to me as if I shall only say good-night to you ; we shall see 
each other to-morrow, — then I shall not fail to joke with you, 
but now I cannot : good night ! ” and she laid her head down 
again. 

It was so still in the chamber — so raw and cold. A bird 
screamed in the garden. Was it death’s bird ? In the ad- 
joining chambers there lay two dead bodies — the little boy’s 
and Caroline Heimerant’s. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER. 



OUNT FREDERICK and Clara, who had now been 


married a year, returned just at this time from Paris 
and Switzerland. Frederick heard of Moritz’s misfortune 
with much sorrow and sympathy, and begged him in the most 
pressing terms to come over to him in Funen, and pass some 
days there ; it lay on his way home, and the neighborhood and 
society there would not, as in Copenhagen, continually remind 
him of his loss ; his sister. Hedevig, who, after the death of 
her lively little boy, attached herself more closely to her 
brother, arid had determined to accompany him to the Halli- 
gers, and keep house for him, was of course also invited. 
Moritz accepted the invitation, as he felt a suffering in re- 
maining in the Councilor’s house, where the soul, the sun- 
shine, Caroline, was present no longer. Besides, he had a 
great desire to speak with the old Baroness about the little 
girl. Elizabeth was her name ; the poor child had no one in 
the world but him to look after her now ; and this he felt 
deeply in his sorrow, for the child, now five years of age, had 
, suddenly fallen under the Baroness’s highest displeasure, and 
‘ been sent out of the house for her “ cunning,” as it was stated 
I in the last letter. 

I In order to learn this “ cunning,” we will also join the trav- 
; ellers to Funen, and even go a few weeks back in time, to the 
14th of August, the Baroness’s birthday, as it was called, but 
which in fact it never had been. 

! “ My birthday was a stupid day,” said she ; “ I celebrate 

it very quietly, and no one shall know it ; but I have looked 
.out the 14th of August as my birthday, for I like the look 
■of it in the almanac, and I will make merry on that day.” 

I It was whispered about that it was on that day her father, 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


68 

long Rasmus, had ridden on the wooden horse : there were 
also several stories about a little chamber that was always 
kept locked, and only opened once a year, just on that very 
morning, when the old lady went into it \ and when she came 
back she was as merry and lively as if she had been drinking 
a little. 

On the 14th of August all the poor in the neighborhood 
were assembled at a sort of audience ; the old lady knew them 
all by name, and even their whole life and history, and after 
this knowledge they were all rewarded. The great saloon 
was then a perfect bazaar, where she and Madame Krone sat 
and distributed the presents. Every one got something. The 
married folks, grits, butter, and meal ; the young girls ribbons, 
and colored neckerchiefs ; the peasant boys, a horse with a 
whistle attached to the tail, and that the old lady herself blew 
first of all, before she delivered it. Several hundred dollars’ 
worth of things were thus given away. 

Against this time — as early as the month of July — the old 
lady and Madame Krone were always found busily occupied, 
sewing clothes for the men and women, all made after the 
Baroness’s own orders. 

When they had all got what they were to have, the old 
lady clapped herself and Madame Krone on the shoulder, 
saying, 

“ See, now, we two have been decent folks. Now I mean 
to be ‘ her ladyship ! ’ ” 

And then she dressed herself in her best apparel, and car- 
riages began to roll into the court-yard ; great and rich guests 
came to a grand dinner-party, and after that was ended, all 
were obliged to go down into the garden and the adjacent 
wood. 

Every year there was one or the other arrangement made 
calculated to surprise the guests. It was generally a living 
picture, or tableau, and often arranged with picturesque taste 
and effect. Thus : as a visitor walked in the wood, and came 
where it inclosed a little lake, flames suddenly rose from the 
surface ; a few fishermen lay in their boats with outspread 
nets, others stood in the water up to their knees ; the women 
worked, and the children danced about. The whole was al* 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER. 69 

ways performed by the peasantry, who were themselves well- 
pleased with this comedy, as they called it, and besides, they 
got money for it. Another year, when the guests came into a 
ravine in the wood, they stood in the midst of a gypsy camp, 
where the fire blazed under the large soup-kettle, and the old 
gypsy hag beat the youngest boy with the ladle. After such a 
tour, they returned to the great saloon, where they found 
everything served up in a festal manner. 

On the table stood an immensely large cake, and in an un- 
defined place in the cake there was placed a nut, baked with 
it ; the cake was then divided equally amongst the guests, and 
the one w'ho got the piece wherein the nut lay, was called 
“ the second birthday child,” was congratulated, and got a 
present from the lady of the house, which was always bound 
round with roses gathered from the grass-plot in the court- 
yard, where, as we know, the wooden horse had stood. 

It was just towards evening of the day previous to this fes- 
tival that the old lady was busily engaged in arranging every- 
thing in the wood. This time it was to be “ the Elves’-dance ; ” 
it had first been her intention to give “ the Greek gods,” but 
Madame Krone had most seriously opposed it, and at last had 
gained her point ; for it would have been scandalous, she said, 
if the old lady had arranged the affair with sea-nymphs, as 
they should have been naked peasant women, who waded 
about in the lake. That they might become ill by perform- 
ing such a comedy moved the Baroness to give up the idea, 
but not that it could be called immoral, “ for all virtue was 
immorality when immoral persons judged it,” said the old 
lady. 

Little Elizabeth, now a girl of five years, a singularly still 
child, and rather naughty, as spoiled children generally be- 
come, sat on a stool at some distance from Madame Krone and 
the Baroness, both of whom were busy sewing, as they were 
not quite ready with the presents for the next day. There 
was a woolen under-jacket unfinished for an old and infirm 
cottager. Elizabeth had her little table before her, covered 
with playthings, but they lay untouched ; her doll was thrown 
on the floor, and the child held her hands in her lap, and 
looked thoughtfully before her with her blue eyes. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


70 

“ You must not sit and think, Elizabeth,” said the old lady ; 

let that alone till you grow bigger, and if it be sleepiness, 
why then, to bed. That is the best^ too, for to-morrow you are 
to stay up, like a grown-up woman.” 

“ O, to-morrow ! ” exclaimed Elizabeth, lifting her little 
hands, and then sitting again thoughtfully. 

‘‘ It is all that she sits and thinks about ! ” said Madame 
Krone, half aloud. “ She hears nothing else talked about 
amongst the servants at this time, and she sees how busy we 
are ! Little pitchers have ears as well as large ones : how 
happy she was last year, and the year before ; but now she 
has more understanding.” 

It was the following day that was running in the child’s 
head, but in another way than that which Madame Krone and 
the old lady supposed ; the little ears had heard and retained 
much of what the servants had related. There was more wis- 
dom in the old lady’s “ you must not sit and think,” than any 
one imagined. 

Elizabeth must now go to bed. She slept in a little cham- 
ber close to Madame Krone’s, who led her thither, got her un- 
dressed, and to sleep, when the sewing began again. At one 
o’clock, however, all were to go to bed that night. Madame 
Krone looked in to little Elizabeth — there was no one in the 
bed. She sought for her everywhere, sent a message to the 
kitchen, ordered the servants to search the yard and the gar- 
den, but Elizabeth was nowhere to be found. Madame Krone 
would, in her anxiety, have gone to the Baroness and told her 
of it, but stopped, turned round, and went down into the ser- 
vants’ hall, where she gave orders that they should all go with 
lanterns and poles, and search the garden once more — but 
the child was not found. 

It was early morning ; the candle was lighted in the old 
lady’s chamber, who, as yet, knew nothing of what had oc- 
curred ; Madame Krone was on her way to her, but stopped, 
as the old lady had gone to the private room, the secret of 
which Madame Krone did not know, or would not acknowl- 
edge that she knew ; she therefore waited until the old lady’s 
return. 

There, between four walls, was inclosed the mystery of the 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER. 


71 

house, and the whole neighborhood ; and this was often and 
often spoken of amongst the servants ; little Elizabeth had 
frequently listened to all this, and when they least imagined it, 
had sat and thought about it. 

Some said that there was nothing in the chamber but a 
pair of wooden shoes and a milking-pail, which her ladyship 
herself had worn and carried when she was a poor peasant- 
gii^., and which, on the occasion of her visits, she put on, say- 
ing, — 

“ So I was, and so I am now ! ” 

Others said, that she had concealed a little man there in 
a bottle, who told her everything that was to happen during 
the year. 

Elizabeth thought of nothing else but to get into the cham- 
ber and see what was there. The key, which she knew lay in 
the little casket on the drawers, she had taken and very cun- 
ningly put down into her stocking. As soon as she was in 
bed and Madame Krone gone, she got up again, put on her 
shoes, lighted the candle at the night-lamp, and crept along 
the passage where the door was. She succeeded in opening 
it directly, and, with the candle in her hand, she now stood in 
the little semicircular tower-chamber. There was nothing to 
be seen but a large old portrait of a man, placed in the mid- 
dle of the chamber, on a board which lay over some rotten 
wooden piles that appeared to have been pulled up out of the 
earth. He had on a very large peruke, a red vest and coat, 
and exhibited a very angry face. Elizabeth looked into every 
corner to see if she could not find the bottle with the little 
man in, or at least the wooden shoes and the milk-pail ; but 
there was nothing at all to be found, and therefore she was 
going to creep away just as stealthily as she had come, but 
the door had fallen to, the key was outside, and she could not, 
or did not understand how to open it. She put the candle 
down on the floor, and pushed against the door with hands 
and feet, but it was of no use : she was about to ci*}^, but re- 
strained her tears by force. She looked at the old portrait ; 
the full light of the candle fell on it, and she felt the most 
terrible dread ; she fancied that the picture became living ; the 
tears streamed out of her eyes ; she shouted aloud, but at the 


THE TWO BARONESSESs 


72 

same moment she remembered the old lady, and, through fear 
of her, became suddenly still, and seized the candle again, 
but it fell out of her hands, and was extinguished, the long 
red wick alone showing where it lay. She tried to blow it 
into a flame again, as she had seen the servants do, but in 
vain. Her improper conduct, which she well understood, and 
now the darkness, and the mysterious chamber — everything 
shook her with terror. The chambermaid Trina, who was to 
go shortly to Copenhagen to be married to her sweetheart the 
shoemaker, had told many stories, which she called comedies 
and ballets, one of them in particular, about Ralph Bluebeard, 
was very shocking. He had murdered his wives and hidden 
their bodies in a chamber where no one durst come. This 
story little Elizabeth could not forget, and thought that the 
chamber here was just such a one. She thought of the dead 
wives, who, as Trina had said, danced in their white gowns, 
and the little child sobbed aloud, crept further and further 
up into a corner, and as she began to be cold, she drew her 
little bed-gown up over her head, sat thus, and fell asleep. 

It was not daybreak, when the old Baroness was up ; she 
missed the key directly, and to her amazement she found that 
it was in the door. Scarcely knowing what ohe did, she 
pushed the door open with such violence that Elizabeth woke 
up and stared around her. 

The old lady looked about her, and when she discovered the 
child, she started back, uttering a strange short scream. Her 
face was distorted, and she seized the child by the arm with 
the violence of one insane. 

“Vagrant!” she muttered, “a key robber!” and she 
dragged Elizabeth before the picture ; here she raised her 
arm to strike her, but suddenly stopped, and looked at that 
portrait with a disturbed countenance ; the light at this mo- 
ment fell full on the face of the portrait. 

“ No, thou” said she to the picture, “ thou shalt not see 
even a guilty child punished ! — ride on thy horse ! ” and then, 
like one deranged, she spat on the portrait of him who had 
kicked her mother, struck herself with the whip, and made 
her father ride, for derision and contempt, on the wooden 
horse, which now stood here, a worm-eaten, rotten piece of 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER. 


73 

frame-work, the pedestal for the portrait. It was the wicked 
lord of the manor, her husband’s father’s portrait, with the re- 
mains of the wooden horse that was kept here. 

Elizabeth cried and sobbed. 

“ Silence ! ” shouted the old Baroness ; “ you are bad, 
wicked ; you would lurk and watch, would you ! you are, or 
may be, everything that is bad, — and out of my house you 
shall go ! ” 

She dragged her along with her and locked the door. 
Elizabeth, pale as death, stared at her with tearful eyes, whilst 
all her limbs shook with terror and cold fits. 

“ I am firm even when I would be bad ! ” muttered the old 
woman, and burst into a violent fit of weeping. 

Madame Krone came up just then. 

The Baroness pointed to the child. 

Away with that creature — away ! to bed — to bed ! — 
don’t look at me — away ! ” and she pushed the little girl 
away from her, then hastened into her room, threw herself 
into a chair, and wept bitterly, whilst all her limbs trem- 
bled. 

At once she sprang up again, clutched the key to the secret 
chamber fast in her hand, made a step towards the door, but 
stopped again. 

“No,” said she, “I have seen him — I have insulted him ! ” 
and she rested her hand on the table, and was standing thus 
when Madame Krone came. 

Elizabeth should be sent out of the house that very day, 
said the old Baroness ; Madame Krone might give her to 
some peasants, put her in the pig-sty, or do what she liked 
with her ; and that day they should write to the clergyman 
to whom the yearly account had been sent. “ It has been 
all jest and nonsense that he has had before, now he shall 
have earnest,” said she ; and her will was a fixed and deter- 
mined one. 

Madame Krone was obliged to send Elizabeth away to the 
old clerk of the parish. Trina, who knew so many comedies 
and ballets, had, in the name of Madame Krone, to put all in 
order, and it was a very affecting business for her, as she was 
fond of little Elizabeth ; and “ however much good there 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


74 

might be in her ladyship, she was, to say the least, unreason- 
able,” said Trina j “ nay, at times, the Baroness is just as if 
she were mad. God forgive me my sins for saying so ! ” - 

Whilst Trina went with Elizabeth to the old clerk’s, the 
feast for the peasants began. The old lady gave out the pres- 
ents to them ; but the peasant children, who were always 
accustomed to hear her jest with them when she handed the 
presents over to them, got to-day serious admonitions and rep- 
rimands. 

“ Her ladyship is not in right sorts to-day,” said they. But 
the great guests who came afterwards observed nothing of 
this — she was then mirth itself. No one asked after little 
Elizabeth, who sat still and dreaming in the clerk’s house, 
with the honest, but highly superstitious old folks. Trina 
wept ; Madame Krone was silent, but she thought so much the 
more. 


CHAPTER X. 


A VISIT TO THE CLERK’S HOUSE. 



'WO months had nearly passed away since the above 


JL event, and during all that time Elizabeth had remained 
with the clerk and his wife. It was at this time that Moritz, 
with his sister Hedevig, came to Funen ; he would himself 
speak with the old lady, and know how matters actually stood 
with the child, for it was not possible to calculate what that 
strange old woman might get into her head. Hedevig, who 
was quite absorbed by the loss of her little son, saw, as a 
mother, her own child in every little one, and therefore 
heard, with the greatest sympathy, what was related about 
Elizabeth, who was now at the clerk’s, a very honest old 
couple, and the willing receptacles of every superstition. 

Hedevig determined to accompany her brother to the old 
Baroness’s, not to visit her, but in order to learn what sort of 
folks the clerk and his wife were, and to see how the child was 
taken care of. 

The honest old clerk was called Mr. Katrineson ; and by 
that name ^Ye may understand that he was from the little 
island of Oro, where the unusual custom exists, that the sons 
generally take their mother’s name, when she has been well 
known as a clever woman. Thus the clerk was called Kat- 
rineson after his mother, whose name was Katrine. His wife 
was also from Oro, somewhat younger than her husband, of a 
very lively disposition, and highly industrious : it was particu- 
larly on account of this last quality, that Madame Krone was 
fond of her. Madame Katrineson made excellent soup of 
hips and elder-berries ; her tea was native manufacture, a 
composition of marsh-marigolds and millefoil. Her coffee 
was mixed with chickory-root from the fields, and cleared with 
dried flounder-skin. No one had better starch than she had ; 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


76 

the potatoes were riven on the grater, and the refuse was 
washed again and again, until the white starch lay on the linen 
to be bleached in the sun. 

But all the superstition from Oro, as it is there reflected 
from the whole country, was, as we have said, removed with 
the good couple into the clerk’s little dwelling, which was very 
comfortable and cleanly, but presented an appearance of all 
the se amulets that the peasant has against superstition. On 
the threshold of the door there was a horseshoe nailed fast, 
with the open part outwards, so that no wher-wolf or sprite 
could slip in. The parlor, which was in all other respects ex- 
tremely neat and clean, had a ceiling that quite shone with 
what the peasant’s call “ the herring’s soul,” a long shining 
part of the herring, which is always taken out and thrown up 
against the ceiling where it remains hanging, and insures the 
party who eats against fever during the whole of that year, 
“the cold one,” as it is called. St. John’s wort grew in the 
crevices of the beams, and prophesied a long life to the old 
couple. 

Mr. Katrineson was a round, little person, — the Baroness 
called him an apple-dumpling with legs ; his wife, on the con- 
trary, was the type of scragginess, fine and slender : in her 
youth she had lost one of her eyes, and, in order to hide this 
want, she always wore a false lock of hair over it, but this 
on account of its immense size, and the awkwardness of its 
arrangement always drew attention to it. Besides the married 
couple, there were in the room, when Moritz and Hedevig en- 
tered, little Elizabeth and the chambermaid Trina, who, in a 
couple of days, was to go to Copenhagen to become the shoe- 
maker’s wife. She was immoderately fond of the little girl, to 
whom she had told ballets and operas, both Ralph Bluebeard 
and Cinderella, and had sung so many songs for. Trina 
knew a great number, and had a clear, strong voice. She 
would now, however, see her sweet little Elizabeth once more, 
to whom she had brought with her, as a remembrance of her- 
self, a printed song-book, — that out of which Trina had so 
often sung, — and in which she had written on the binding, 
“To little Elizabeth, from her affectionate servant, Trina, be- 
trothed to the master-shoemaker, Hansen.” 


A VISIT TO THE CLERK'S HOUSE, 


77 

As soon as she saw Mr. Moritz’s sister, she exclaimed : — 

“ Good God, madame, is it you ! ” This exclamation showed 
a sort of earlier acquaintance in Copenhagen. 

“It is many years since we met,” said Hedevig; ' I really 
thought you had gone on the stage.” 

“ Much water has run into the sea since that time,” said 
Trina ; “ it was no place for me, as Hansen also said, — there 
may be very decent, honest persons there ; but appearances, 
madame ! it is that one looks at ! ” 

Moritz explained to the old folks who he was, on what occa- 
sion he had come, and that he would go up to the manor to 
speak with the Baroness. 

“ It is kind of you,” said Madame Katrineson : “ for what 
is to become of the child ? With our best will we could not 
keep her, — we are old folks, and good as ’Lizabeth is, she is 
hard to master : a compliant child she is not, and at times, 
when she sits alone, and stares with those strange eyes (here 
the old woman spoke in a lower tone), one would think the 
child did not belong to Christian persons, though her body is 
very regularly shaped.” 

Moritz answered what he could answer, and then set off 
to the old lady’s. Hedevig stayed at the clerk’s ; her old ac- 
quaintance with Trina was a point of attraction. Madame 
Katrineson went to fetch the coffee-can which, on account of 
Trina’s visit, had been set on the fire. 

“ Have you been on the stage ? ” asked Madame Katrine- 
son, as she stood a long time and thought of what she had 
just before heard. Trina blushed, laughed, and nodded. 

“ That certainly you never have,” thought Mr. Katrineson. 

“ I never liked to speak about it, and Hansen desired me 
not to do so. I have — that is to say when I was a little child 
— been ‘ the god of love,’ with wings, and spangles on my 
shoes. Yes, they even applauded me. I was with the dan- 
cers, ran about the whole day up in the dancing-school, and 
had to go to the baker’s, and buy buns for the ballet-dancers. 
Alas ! it was a miserable life ; there is much chicanery in it, 
and appearances were always, at least at that time, against 
dancing ; and appearances it is that one looks at. When I 
became older, and Hansen was a journeyman, and courted me. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


78 

he told me that it was so much against his wish that I should 
go and spring about there ; and the dancing-master always 
scolded so much, and set me amongst the last, so I went into 
service — it is now eight years since. The Baroness here 
has been a good mistress to me, for she is good, however 
strange she can be. Now Hansen has become a master, and 
if I do not live as I have been used to live here at the manor, 
I shall at least have my own house, for he is a good man I 
shall have for a husband, and one I am really fond of! and I 
shall be free from the world’s talk — for appearances, Mr. 
Katrineson ! it is every one’s, and particularly every woman’s 
character ! ” 

That Trina should have danced with spangles on her shoes 
and wings on her shoulders, made a strange effect on Mr. 
Katrineson. He had stepped some paces backward, his hands 
folded involuntarily, and he looked at her with a sad and 
sorrowful expression. Little Elizabeth, on the contrary, went 
straight up to Trina, laid her elbows in her lap, and looked up 
in her face without removing her eyes. 

“ May God grant you happiness in the married state,” said 
Hedevig ; “ you are a good girl, and that theatre-life is a heavy 
road : the world likes best to speak ill ! ” 

“ No one escapes,” said Trina, “ not even Hansen ; but 
that makes no difference to me, /know him, and people look 
differently inwards to what they do outwards. Now, there is 
my lady, the Baroness : — they laugh at her many call her 
mad, and yet she is wiser and better than most I There is a 
good principle in her, hard as she is towards little Elizabeth 
— who has been a very naughty child,” she added, and looked 
as severe she could at the little girl, but only for a moment ; 
then kissed her brow and stroked her curls. 

“ Had you nothing else on but shoes and wings, when you 
dano.ed ? ” asked Elizabeth, who seemed to have remained 
with all her thoughts fixed on that point, as the most inter- 
esting in the whole of Trina’s conversation. 

Madame Katrineson now came, with her bright, polished 
coffee-can ; cups, saucers, and slop-basin were set out ; 
Katrineson drew his chair nearer, and gave Trina a piece of 
paper. 


A VISIT TO THE CLERK'S HOUSE. 79 

“ I did not know,” said he, “ that you had been a dancer, or 
else I would have added one pious verse more, because it has 
fared as well as it has with you. It is a song for you ; you 
can sing it at the wedding ; you can read it, just as you like, 
for I have composed it.” 

The verses were set to a psalm tune, and the words were as 
melancholy, as if they were intended for an execution. Kat- 
rineson read what he had written, and wept at the second 
verse ; then Trina wiped her eyes also, and afterwards the 
others did the same. 

“ I don’t think that the parson could write them better,” 
said Madame Katrineson, and she looked proudly at her hus- 
band. 

Had you nothing else on but shoes and wings when you 
danced ? ” asked Elizabeth again. 

“ Don’t look with such eyes, little ’Lizabeth 1 ” exclaimed 
Madame Katrineson ; “ you sit down to your doll ; ” and she 
drew the child away from Trina, for, as she said to her hus- 
band, “ She set up grandmother eyes.” 

“ Grandmother’s ! ” repeated Trina, and shook hands with 
Katrineson once more for the pretty melancholy song. 

“ That is our way of speaking : we have it from Oro. Kat- 
rineson’s grandmother was made blind by the elves : did you 
never know that 1 ” 

“ She could not see,” said her husband, “ and yet it looked 
as if she could, and little ’Lizabeth has often such eyes. 

“ Grandmother was a midwife in Dunkjer on Oro ; she was 
fetched to the elf-queen, who was in labor, and she got some 
salve to rub the elf-child’s eyes with ; some of it stuck to her 
fingers when she came out of the hill, and she happened to 
ub her own eyes with it : then she was clear-sighted ; she saw 
the little elves swarm forth in the rye-field, and cut the ears 
off the stalk. 

‘‘ ‘ What are you doing there ? ’ said she. 

“ Then they all screamed out, — 

“ ‘ If you can see, you shall see ! ’ and then they blew her 
eyes out. Certain it is,” he added, “ that as long as I can 
remember, she was blind ; but now and then there came a 
lustre on the gray-blue dead eyes, and then it seemed as if she 


8o 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


could see ; and it was for all the world just as ’Lizabeth looks 
at times, when she does not say a word.’’ 

“ Yes, if it were not Madame Krone who had spoken for 
her, we should not have had that child,” said the clerk’s wife. 
“ I wish all was well again, and that she was up again at the 
manor and not here in the house ; does she look like a Chris- 
tian child ? ” 

“ She thrives, but she is skin and bone ; eats as much as 
three, and has such a memory that it is enough to terrify one ; 
and that is not the worst of all ! ” 

“ She is clear, clear-sighted,” repeated Katrineson, and con- 
tinued, as Hedevig shook her head : “ I shall give you ocular 
demonstration, madame. She was with me in the church-yard 
last night : it was clear moonlight, — ‘ What is that there ? ’ 
said she to me, and pointed to the church-wall. I looked, and 
it appeared to me to be her shadow and mine. ‘ It is surely 
my horse,’ said she ; then I thought of the hell-horse,^ thought 
of what eyes she had, and that she could see better than I, 
and I sang a psalm aloud, when I felt that she trembled like 
an aspen leaf.” 

“You have frightened the child,” said Hedevig; “there is 
no hell-horse ; who believes such things ? ” 

“ That do I ! ” said Madame Katrineson, “ and so did my 
father too, for he knew the hell-horse, knew him better than 
you or I. My father was a watchman in Areskjobing, and he 
saw the hell-horse hobble away every night on his three legs 
from the church-yard to the place where one was to die. Once 
he went straight towards our house, where my mother and I 
lay — it is true, every word I tell you. ‘ Ho, ho ! ’ said my 
father, ‘ don’t go there,’ and then he named our Lord’s name ; 
but the hell-horse is surely a spirit, though it goes our Lord’s 
errands, and therefore it continued to go straight towards the 
house ; then my father set olf after it, and sprang at once on 
its back. My father was a courageous man, and as he sat on 
the hell-horse he had it in his power : he held his mace before 
him, and rode so that the horse clattered on. He ran straight 
up to the town-hall, where there was a large tree, and he bound 

i A fabled three-legged horse (from Hell, the northern goddess of 
death). 


.4 VISIT TO THE CLERICS HOUSE. 8 1 

the hell-horse fast to it, for it wanted to get away but it could 
not, and my father stood and looked at it, and saw that, as 
the day broke, the horse became more and more like a mist, 
and when the sun rose there was no horse to be seen, but a 
long shaving hung to the tree, as if it had just been taken 
off a coffin.” 

‘‘ O Jesu, mother ! ” screamed Madame Katrineson, and let 
the basin of coffee fall, for little Elizabeth stood close up to 
her, with fixed eyes : it was as if she heard with them. 

“Was it that hell-horse we saw last night?” asked the 
child. 

“ ’Lizabeth will be my death ! ” said Madame Katrineson ; 
“ she is frightful to look at.” 

“ Poor little thing ! ” sighed Hedevig, and drew the child 
towards her ; “ she has an intelligent face ; there is something 
in it, though I know not myself what it is, that reminds me 
of my sweet boy ! and he was just her size ! ” She wiped her 
eyes and looked at Elizabeth. 

Madame Katrineson then confided to Hedevig and Trina, 
what, as she said, was not confided to any one. “ This child 
is not like others. The little innocents sleep their sweet 
sleep at nights, but she there — I have seen it to my horror — 
gets up ! she has done it twice, and the last time it was just 
on the stroke of twelve. She went along the floor, right up 
to the door, and there sat down, and drew her night-gown up 
about her head ; ‘ ’Lizabeth ! in Jesu’s name ! ’ I shouted, and 
then it fell down as if dead on the floor. Now, I have laid a 
wet cloth with hemp-seed on it, before the bed : if she treads 
on that then she will turn back again ; I learned that of grand- 
mother ! No, that child is not one of our kind ! ” 

“She never walked in her sleep at the manor,” said 
Trina, in the most positive manner, and she was right ; but 
Madame Katrineson was also right. She had seen Elizabeth 
rise from her bed and go straight up to the door, but the whole 
was a comedy, which Madame Katrineson herself was the 
cause of ; for one night, when Elizabeth was awake, she had 
got up in bed to look at the pendulum of the clock, as the 
moon shone on it, and Madame Katrineson had said quite 
6 


82 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


aloud : “ Jesu’s mother ! now she is getting up like a ghost ! ” 
and this remark had given Elizabeth the greatest desire to do 
so, but as Katrineson himself now awoke also, and spoke to 
her, nothing came of it on that night, but on another. Both 
husband and wife had chatted so much of their foolish non- 
sense to the poor child, that it almost believed itself to be a 
witch. Elizabeth had never before stared as she did now, 
with her eyes ; she heard that they took notice of it, spoke 
about it, were terrified, and all this she found to be very amus- 
ing. This was the real state of affairs. 

Moritz now returned from his visit to the old Baroness, 
where, however, something had been done. 

“ The kernel is good ! ” said he ; “ it is as it has come from 
our Lord, and the world has given the shell its color. She is 
certainly a strange woman ! ‘ I will give two hundred dollars 

a year to the child,’ said she ; ‘ but it is not for the child’s 
sake, for it is a good-for-nothing! but for my conscience, and 
for that I will pay two hundred dollars ! When Elizabeth is 
fourteen years old, then that is- over, and she must provide for 
herself, and I know I have paid my entrance money for the 
“ Lying Comedy ” her father told us ! ’ The woman is singu- 
lar,” he continued, “ but she is better than she wishes to ap- 
pear, and better than the world sees.” 

“Yes, if people only knew each other,” said Trina, “they 
would not judge as they do.” 

The clerk and his wife would not keep Elizabeth, not for 
twice two hundred dollars ! Where should the child be sent 
to ? Madame Katrineson thought it might be a good help to 
Trina, now that she was to marry, to have the money. 

“ Nay, God preserve me I ” said Trina ; “ it would fall heavy 
on my shoulders if I came to be married, and had such a lit- 
tle girl with me — nay, not for all the money in the world« 
Then I might just as well have continu.^d to be a dancer. 
Appearances, Madame Katrineson — it is that one looks 
at.” 

Hedevig took hold of her brother’s hand. 

“ Elizabeth is the same age as my little boy was : she can 
sit with me as if I had him, and I will take her, brother, if 
you have nothing to object.” 


A VISIT TO THE CLERICS HOUSE, 


83 

Moritz looked kindly at his sister, and Elizabeth’s fate was 
decided — she should accompany them to the Halligers. 

“Farewell,” said Trina, and kissed the child once more, 
and begged her to take good care of the song-book she had 
given her. Elizabeth hung round her neck, cried, and then 
asked her, for the third time, “ Had you only shoes and wings 
on?” 

“Are you still thinking of that? ’’said Trina. “Alas! I 
was dressed like the angels on the stage, and they have clothes 
that look as if they had no clothes on.” 

“ It is appearance,” she was going to say, but did not ; she 
kissed Elizabeth, kissed Madame Katrineson, and shook hands 
with all the others. 

“ Now be a good child,” said she ; “ and if you ever come 
to Copenhagen, Hansen shall make you a pair of red boots, 
and you shall go with me to the theatre to see ‘ Cinderella ’ or 
‘ Bluebeard ; ’ you sweet child — perhaps we may never see 
each other again ! I thought that you would grow up in the 
good old manor-house, and live to close the old lady’s eyes ! 
You are now more deserted than even I was ; and you are to 
go a long way off! — so far — so far ! ” 

Moritz clapped her on the shoulder. 

“ I am glad to see that there is one who is fond of the little 
thing. May God let me cause the good that is in her to thrive 
well ! ” 

“ Yes, she also, little soul ! ” said Trina, “ she, also, your 
Reverence, has appearances already against her.” 

She nodded, kissed Elizabeth and Madame Katrineson 
once more, then shook hands again with the others, and went 
— to be married to her Hansen. 

Hedevig took little Elizabeth by the hand, imprinted a kiss 
on her brow, and promised in her heart, “ I will be to her a 
good mother, for his sake whom our Lord took unto Himself ; ” 
and the child looked with its intelligent eyes on the new 
mother — the real one had lain many years already in her 
grave ; no one knew the place, and the grass grew high above 
it. Her eyes were filled with tears, but they were for Trina, 
who was to be, though no one thought of that, a mother to 
Elizabeth — a refuge, the only one in her abandonment. 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


84 

“ Thus we do not see it now, for appearances — yes, it is 
appearances one looks at ! ” said Trina. 

But we will now travel with Moritz, Hedevig, and little 
Elizabeth over to the Halligers — the peaceful islands in the 
stormy North Sea. 


CHAPTER XI. 


WHAT HAPPENED AT DAGEBOL. 



T hvo o’clock in the morning a large Holstein wicker- 


Jr\ wagon well packed with baggage drove out of the 
town of Flensborg; in it sat Moritz, Hedevig, and little Eliza- 
beth. They were obliged to start at this time in order to be 
sure of arriving at Dagebol in time for the tide. It was 
clear moonlight, but cold. They drove at a walking pace up 
the bank, nor did they go much faster when they arrived at the 
top, where the country extended itself in sandy fields and 
moorlands. A long part of the road, which had collected a 
mass of rain-water, was not at all a road, but a canal, through 
which the horses waded. They afterwards went on through 
heavy sands, seldom passed a house, and still more seldom did 
they see a church tower ; the noise of a croaking bird was 
heard at a distance, otherwise all was monotonously silent ; 
not one of the travellers spoke ; they each sat buried in their 
own thoughts, and little Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the moon. 

They had sailed in an open boat from Funen to Als, and 
from the latter place had been driven by way of Gravenstein 
to Flensborg. The beautiful woodlands, the alternations of 
fiords and lakes, high banks, green meadows, and moorlands, 
the different dresses of the people, the strange language, — all 
these new impressions filled little Elizabeth’s mind, whilst they 
glided unnoticed past Moritz and Hedevig, each of whom 
thought of what they had lost in the world. 

Shortly before daybreak they reached the first baiting-place, 
which lay in the outskirts of a little village. 

Towards morning the air became colder than before. The 
road-side inn which they entered was highly uncomfortable : 
half emptied tankards and glasses stood on the table in the 
guests’ room ; a tallow candle with a long snuff burnt in an 


86 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


iron candlestick ; the floor was thickly strewn with wet sand. 
The girl, who should have put life into the whole, stood half- 
asleep, with her clothes thrown loosely about her, and took 
several letters up from the floor, where they had fallen down ; 
every one of them as clumsily sealed as they were folded. 
They were all sent as occasion offered, that is to say, with the 
butcher or peasants who came into the place ; piled up in the 
window, where every one could read the address as he passed 
by. Every letter now remained here, and waited for him to 
whom it was addressed, or till an acquaintance of his should 
come that way, and thus, frequently after several weeks and 
days, it might arrive at its destination. The snail-like mode 
of this reciprocal transmission of letters seemed to be im- 
parted to all the inmates of the house that morning. To get 
a fire made, and a basin of warm ale and eggs prepared, 
seemed as if it would make such an inroad on time that they 
determined to put it off until th§y arrived at the next baiting- 
place. The horses had been foddered, and the driver prom- 
ised that they should now go briskly forward, though they 
could not do so when they got into the Marskland, as the 
roads there were almost impassable, he said, and the horses 
would sink down to the girths. Nevertheless he thought he 
could bring them to do two miles an hour ! 

The clouds became redder, the moon paler, and the day- 
light came : they saw the birds above them and on the way- 
side, the sheep on the moors, and at length a few men here 
and there on the road, the majority on horseback, and also 
women. 

“ Moritz, the day will be fine,” began Hedevig, as if driven 
to speak by seeing the awakening life around her. “ Every 
morning is in fact a repetition of the creation, just as the 
Bible tells us it was. First we see the air, then the water ; 
the plants next appear, then the birds of the air and the 
beasts of the field ; and lastly, man ! ” 

“ Certainly,” said Moritz ; “ Moseses Bible was God’s great 
nature. He read it in the desert j from that he got as much 
wisdom as from the wise men of Egypt, and the sagas his own 
people gave him.” 

Moritz again sat silent, and looked contemplative. Hedevig 


WHAT HAPPENED AT DAGEBOL. 


87 

would have spoken but stopped ; the driver took his post-horn, 
and blew it as miserably as ^e could, though it was not his in- 
tention. 

“ I understand German,” cried little Elizabeth, when she 
heard the children speak at the next baiting-place. “ I under- 
stand almost every word.” 

And she did so, for it was Danish she heard. Here in the 
whole district, from Flensborg towards the Marskland, the 
language is Danish, German, and Frisian ; the three languages 
are mixed with each other. The Frisian prevails in the Marsh- 
land, where the Frisians dwell, that ancient people whom 
Herodotus and Xenophon mention as having emigrated from 
Persia. 

The flat, green Marskland lay extended before them ; the 
long, still canals, had, from the continued rain, overflowed, 
and the whole district lay under water. 

Groups of sheep appeared on the higher situated green 
spots, to which the shepherd was obliged to wade ; the peas- 
ants walked knee-deep in the water, and cut the unripe corn. 
The roads here extend in all directions on raised dikes of 
equal height, over marsh and meadow, like an intersecting 
railway ; the traveller on seeing them is led to think of a rail- 
way, but with the same disappointed feeling as the caravans in 
the desert see in the /a^a morgana lakes and woods, where 
they know that it is but the desert sand. The whole dikes 
were so neck-breaking, full of ruts, and muddy, that they 
could not properly be called roads ; the horses were every 
moment in danger of breaking their legs ; and where the travel- 
lers met others in wagons, it was really a work of skill to pass 
one another without being upset into the water or a bean-field. 
The few villages generally lie with all the houses in a row 
along the dikes, from which cause they assume an extensive 
and considerable appearance ; all the houses are built of stone 
from the foundation, with large thoroughfares, whence the 
smoke escapes through the large open gateway. 

Houseleek and creeping plants flourished on the moss-grown 
roof. The whole made that lively, touching impression which 
the home of our childhood always makes on elderly persons. 
Moritz and Hedevig were, as we know, from Marskland, from 


88 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


the Holstein part, near Itzeho, where the land and buildings 
gave tokens of greater wealth than that district of country in 
the Slesvig part, which the brother and sister now passed 
through, — a remark which they also made in silence. But 
yet it was the character of their native home they saw ; it was 
that of the well-known houses without chimneys, with their 
gables towards the wayside, and with the broad, open gate- 
way, through which one could see into the room, kitchen, and 
stable. How often had not Moritz and Hedevig, when they 
were children, sat and played in the open gateway, and 
watched the swallow as it flew in and out of the room, w'here 
it also had its nest and its little ones. The brother and sister 
had both the same thoughts at this moment, but they did not 
express them. 

They now went forward at the rate of four miles an hour; 
the poor horses reeked and strained themselves ; a thick, 
damp fog rolled on towards them ; it was “ the shrew,” as it is 
called ; its bitter cold taste forced its way into their mouths 
and eyes, and they soon came into a cloud, which was so 
thick and opaque, that almost every one, whether riding or 
driving, who came past them, had nearly run against the 
horses. 

It will scarcely be possible to get from the continent to the 
islands to-day, and, in all probability, they will have to pass 
the night in Dagebol, the little ferry place whence one crosses 
over to Fohr. 

It is not twenty years since that there was not, in many of 
the Danish towns, a single house that could properly be called 
an inn, or public-house. The traveller was obliged to apply 
to one or another tradesman, who had a spare room and would 
not refuse to be paid for its use ; it was usually the apothe- 
cary or shop-keeper. The unknown guest had a place at the 
family table, where the mistress of the house counted, and 
accurately remembered, how many pieces of bread and butter, 
bread and cheese, or bread and meat, or whatever it might be, 
that he ate, that she might put it down to the account after- 
wards. That custom belonged to what people in our conven- 
ient, well-managed times, call “ that period’s prose in a trav- 
eller’s life,” but which one ought to be glad is now past. 


m/AT HAFPEArED AT DAGEBOL. 


89 

Now, in Dagebol there was neither apothecary nor shop- 
keeper to resort to, but, on the contrary, a wealthy Marsh- 
land farmer, a genuine Frisian, proud and selfish, a monarch 
in his own house, and fully persuaded in his own mind that 
Dagebol was the first town within a circle of several miles. 

Dagebol lies close up to the dikes, which protect it and the 
neighborhood against the inroads of the German ocean off the 
coast of Jutland. 

The wagon jolted along over the terrible stone bridge, and 
at last stopped before the inn, if one may venture to give the 
farm-house that name. 

A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared in the door-way, and 
looked at them, but without saying good-day he seemed 
vexed at seeing strangers whom he did not expect. This was 
the landlord himself. 

Moritz and Hedevig bade him “ good-day,” but got no an- 
swer. “ We should like to have all these things under 
cover ! ” said they. 

“ Why, then, see to get them under,” answered the landlord, 
and he turned round and walked in again. 

Whilst the driver took the horses from the wagon, which 
had to stand before the house with all its baggage, — and 
where it in fact stood safe enough, — Moritz, with his sister 
and little Elizabeth, entered the room. It was pretty well 
filled with strangers, hot, and uncomfortable : near the stove, 
which was remarkable for its size, and its bright brass ball, 
and was besides hung round with half-wet linen that hung 
like banners in a sepulchral chapel, sat some women with 
large men’s hats on, of fine felt, and two girls from Fohr, 
with silver plates, and large silver buttons in their bodice : 
colored handkerchiefs hung, turban-like, about their plaited 
hair. 

The landlord had again taken his place at the end of the 
table, where all his attention appeared to be turned to the 
man by his side, a heavy person in a thick red flannel under- 
, jacket, and whose waistcoat was so covered with small buttons 
jin several rows, that it looked like the breast of a hussar’s 
j uniform. A blue woolen neckerchief hung loosely around his 
! throat, and large gold rings, such as the women wear, were in 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


90 

his ears : his hands were remarkably large and red, everything 
about him was colossal, but his voice, on the contrary, was fine 
as a woman's ; and he stirred the contents of his tankard with 
a bone spoon : this was the rich horse-dealer, Fetters, who 
was on his way to Tonningen. 

No one made a place for Moritz and his sister; it seemed 
as if they took no notice whatever of them ; Moritz turned to 
the right and to the left, and as the door to the next room 
stood open, and which led to the kitchen, where any one could 
hear that something was frying in the pan, he walked in, fol- 
lowed by Hedevig and Elizabeth : he addressed himself di- 
rectly to the mistress of the house, who seemed to be very 
busy, and looked angry and proud. 

“ I am the clergyman from the Halligers,” said he. 

“Yes, I know you well enough,” she replied sulkily. “You 
have been here twice before ; one cannot move about in one’s 
own house.” 

Moritz patiently held his tongue. Hedevig, however, en- 
tered cunningly into conversation about all the trouble that 
the woman must have, all the great toil and drudgery that 
there must be in such a house, whereby she at length brought 
her into a milder humor, so that she allowed them to have a 
small chamber, and that too with a bed in it. This latter was 
quite characteristic : the head-piece was the half of the rud- 
der of a stranded ship, and the foot-piece was real mahogany, 
with carved figures on it ; it was a door which the sea had 
cast up, and which now served to shut in the legs of the 
sleeper : the walls were white and bare, and there was wet 
sand on the floor ; this was the whole furniture. 

After haviqg taken off a great part of their travelling 
clothes, and, as they called it, put themselves a little in order, 
which, with Moritz, consisted in brushing his coat, and with 
Hedevig in tying her cap-strings afresh, and arranging her 
hair, they determined to return to the large room, where one 
end of the table was laid out for them. 

The horse-dealer, Fetters, with his fine, screaming, female 
voice, was the first and loudest speaker, and the subject they 
were discussing was one that, according to his calling, one 
would least have imagined — namely, baptism ; that is to 


HAPPENED AT DAGEBOL. 


91 

say, concerning christening the old church bells, when there 
were present both godfathers and a godmother, who, it was 
said, bore the bell, just as they bear a child ; and about this 
same godmother Mr. Fetters related a very curious story, 
which was more broad than witty, and which he, like all gar- 
rulous persons, when they find their tales are well received, 
related again to the same listeners, and now repeated for the 
third time, as Moritz, Hedevig, and Elizabeth entered. 

The rumbling of a wagon outside gave tokens of new 
guests, but the landlord sat still, and Mr. Fetters raised his 
voice, for the story was to be finished. 

Two persons wrapped up in seal-skin travelling-cloaks now 
entered the room. They were Vomme Leyson, the old com- 
mander, as he was called, and his wife. These were the twa 
personages of most importance that Moritz had in his whole 
parish, and his most intimate acquaintances. As soon as the 
landlord saw who they were, he rose up from his chair, as 
they were persons of consequence, and then sat down again. 
Mr. Fetters made his compliments in an equally polite way, 
and was quite pleased, as he laughed at the Greenland dress. 
The married couple were on their way home from Husum, 
where their only living son, “ who had been so stupid as to 
study,” so the commander said, was now a town judge, and 
had just married, and at the wedding the parents were 
obliged to be present, or else they would not have left their 
island. 

“ We were made much of,” said the old woman ; “ hon- 
ored : I was like a queen ! and such a table as there was ! 
but they didn’t understand how to stuff the capons, and that 
my son said.” 

“ And there is our parson,” cried the commander, as he 
saw Moritz ; “ welcome ! welcome ! — well, where is the wife ? 
— where is the lady of Halliger-parsonage ? I shall make 
a little party for her to-morrow ! But can I appear before 
her for the first time in this costume ? and you, mother ! ” — 

Moritz pressed his hand, and in a few words told him his 
great loss, and presented him to his sister and little Elizabeth. 
The commander’s smiling face became serious and perplexed. 
Without saying a word, he threw his arms round Moritz’s 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


92 

neck and kissed him, then withdrew from the room with his 
wife, who uttered a sorrowful cry. They went into the next 
room, where they threw off their seal-skin cloaks, which the 
commander himself had brought from Greenland, and which 
on their journey to Hobro had proved of much use. 

When they returned to the great room, Madame Leyson 
shook hands with Hedevig, kissed little Elizabeth, and re- 
lated what she had lost in this world. The sea had taken all 
her sons but one — “my judge,” as she called him ; and then 
she had a grandson, Elimar, her heart’s pride, the finest boy, 
the wisest child : this was the grandmother that spoke ; he 
also was now out “ on the wide sea, or down in it ” — it was 
his first great voyage to Greenland. “Nay, the land is, how- 
ever, firm ground,” continued the old woman, “ and it also 
gives us good bread, and many joys and pleasures. What a 
house my son has ; that was a wedding ; ” and then she was 
obliged to tell them all about the festivity and about the dan- 
cing. “ Yes,” said she, “ my old commander danced too, but I 
only went once round ; these new-fashioned dances are so diffi- 
cult, and what are they compared to those in my grandfather’s 
time ? I remember them still, though I was so little that I 
had to be lifted up in the servant’s arms to see them. My 
grandfather was always the first in the dance at all festivals ; 
he was the king, as it is called. They were all in white shirt- 
sleeves j they all had small bells on each leg ; and when he 
had made a speech — it was in verse — their legs went and the 
swords went, for they always bore a sword in the dance, and 
they sprang over it, and they placed them in such a position 
as to form a rose, and then they held it above their shoulders 
as a shield, and the king stood on it, and was lifted above 
their heads.” 

“ What ! the town judge ! ” asked Fetters, who had not at- 
tended to the conversation, and thought that the whole was a 
description of the wedding-dance at Husum. “ That was a 
devil of a dance ! ” 

“Who talks about the * town judge!”’ answered Madame 
Leyson ; “ I speak of old days, of my grandfather, of the old 
Frisian dancers. Do you think they dance nowadays with 
bells on their legs, or form roses in the dance ? ” 


WHAT HAPPENED AT DAGEBOL. 


93 

“There was meaning in all our old customs,” said the land- 
lord ; “ there is not near so much of what is solemn now as 
in ancient times. I always liked the old dances. Nowadays 
it is, ‘swing me here, swing me there’ — it is meaning that’s 
wanting. And then that fine custom at the wedding, that 
when the young wife was led home for the first time to her 
husband’s house, he drew his sword and stuck it into the 
thatched roof over the door, and let her go in under it : the 
marriage-sword was drawn over her.” 

“ Have you now got into that nonsense "i ” cried a voice 
from the kitchen ; but the landlord was not to be put out of 
his talk, and continued : “ and then the old Fenstern^ which 
has quite died away, nay, is even forbidden by law.” 

“And I think it ought to be forbidden,” said Moritz ; “it 
appears to me to be derogatory to all modesty, to continue 
such a custom as that.” 

“ It was highly moral,” said Madame Leyson ; “ my grand- 
mother was a highly moral woman, and she got her husband 
by the ‘ Fenstern.’ When they knew that all were in bed, the 
young men went each to the house where she lived that he 
would go a-courting to. The chamber windows were, as we 
know, never fastened ; the lover went very orderly into the 
chamber, and sat down by the bed ; there he could speak the 
feelings of his heart freely, and if she did not like him, she 
could creep under the bed-clothes as far as she liked, and then 
he was obliged to go his way. I don’t think that this was more 
shocking than the long betrothals, and that eternal kissing 
which accompanies it in these times ; that I think immoral. 
Not one kjss did they get in their night courtships. I know 
it, for my grandmother was a woman of veracity.” 

The conversation thus fell more and more into the old cus- 
toms and usages of the country. Out-of-doors there was 
still a thick raw sea-mist, and as long as that prevailed there 
could be no thought of crossing the water. At night the 
moon would be up, and it might perhaps get the better of the 
shrew; the travellers were, therefore, obliged to pass the 
night in Dagebol ; and as they knew it they drew nearer to- 
gether : the conversation was about old and modern times. 
Little Elizabeth listened with all the curiosity of a child, but 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


94 

she did not understand the language ; tired and sleepy, she 
opened her eyes wider and wider, until they at length closed 
altogether; she slept as soundly as all of us sleep at that 
age. 

We will also sleep here, and awake again when she first 
awakes, and that was about midnight. She lay on a sack and 
some clothes, a horse-cloth was thrown over her, and she was 
placed close before the bed, with the rudder and door-head as 
a foot-piece, on which Hedevig and Madame Leyson had laid 
down, half undressed, and now they both slept. 

The night had begun to be windy : the fog dispersed and 
drove in Small patches past the moon, which shone into the 
chamber. The child awoke, and at the first moment she was 
terrified on finding herself in a strange place ; she rose up, 
and then remembered where she was ; looked to the bed to 
see if Hidevig was there, and as she found her and the old 
lady, who slept very soundly, she was quiet. The door out 
to the side-building kept clattering continually, as every gust 
of wind set it in motion — it was only fastened with a noose 
of cord. Elizabeth now got up ; she must know what was 
the matter with the door ; and when she got there and 
touched the cord, the door flew open outwards, as it was 
one of those doors that are more inclined to spring open 
than remain shut, and she fell on her head, but without hurt- 
ing herself, as there was a good deal of straw there. She 
got up again and looked about her ; it was a great barn that 
she had tumbled into. Here stood several wagons, and be- 
tween these lay something that shone in the dark like a star, 
and on which a ray from the moon fell. What could it be ? 
she must know it ; she must go up to it ; she stood for a mo- 
ment as if debating with herself, then made a brisk step. 

And we will also make one, though only a few hours forward 
in time. 

It was morning ; Hedevig and Madame Leyson were both 
up, and astonished in a high degree, for the child was not to 
be found, neither in doors nor out. No one could give any 
account of her, and yet many of the folks about the house 
had been up before daylight. The horse-dealer. Fetters, had 
driven southwards before daybreak, and the travellers from 
Fohr had gone off about the same time to Tondern. 


WHAT HAPPENED AT DAGEBOL. 


95 

Madame Leyson had been awakened shortly before daylight 
by a loud barking that came ffom the barn close by., The 
door to their chamber was open,(she said, and as theré Wtl^'a 
strong draught, she had got up tib lock it, and on that occasion 
she thought that she saw little Ef^^beth J[ying where they ludf , 
made a bed for her ; this, howevei^\\©^^g|[^p»fe|[‘Qs'E^^- 
beth was then in the barn already. 

must have gone straight from the bed without either shoe or 
frock on, but whither ? — she had disappeared ! 

“ Alas, my own dear Elimar ! ” sighed Madame Leyson, 

‘‘ God knows where he is at this moment, — we can all be 
lost ! ” And although there was no reason to suppose that 
Elimar also should have disappeared from the vessel he was 
with, or the vessel with him have foundered, she could not 
help thinking so, and expressing her anxiety, — yet she as 
quickly spoke consoling and pitying words to poor, despairing 
Hedevig. 

The whole forenoon was passed in searching and inquiries : 
the brother and sister were now deeply affected, — there was 
nothing more to be done. Another day was added to their 
time of trial. Sorrowfully they entered the boat that was to 
bear them over to Oland. They commissioned the landlord 
in Dagebol, and the revenue officer there, to question every 
stranger, and then to send them every information directly that 
might lead to a trace of her. A great misfortune must cer- 
tainly have happened to her. 

The brother and sister stood at the fore part of the boat : 
they spoke not a word, their eyes were fixed on the dark swim- 
ming islands — the Halligers — the largest of which was the 
end of their voyage. 

The white mountainous sand banks on Amrom rose high in 
the dark atmosphere ; the fiat Halligers lay like a drift of 
sea- weed, whose motion has ceased. 

Iffie sea rolled its yellow-green, turbid waves, as the tide 
brings them in. They were obliged to tack ; a few strokes of 
the oars brought them nearer Oland, with its town and church. 
They saw two female figures approaching the shore ; others 
soon joined them ; every figure appeared quite distinct as 
they came forward, the air forming the background, fo’* the isl- 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


96 

ands are so low, and the extent even of the greatest so in- 
significant. Here is not a tree, not a bush, — a gooseberry 
“excepted, which shot forth sickly in a corner of the parson’s 
grounds. 

All the houses of the town are built on layers of beams, 
and are placed close to each other with small openings be- 
tween them ; it is as if wind and stream had driven them 
near together, and close to the church, as the sheep to the 
ram. The small windows are placed high up, painted blue 
and green : they shine and look as if they belonged to the 
cabin of a ship. 

The vessel ran in on the side of the island where the sea 
had made a creek. A number of the women who were wait- 
ing on shore, all dressed in black — as the females are on 
these islands — immediately fastened their skirts up around 
them, sprang into the water, and bore Madame Leyson and 
Hedevig on land. To the Commander and Moritz they only 
gave a hand ; they received the travellers on their return home 
with great pleasure, and the heartiest congratulations. 

The happiest among them was a middle-aged servant-maid, 
'Keike, or, as she was called, the parson’s Keike, for she was 
in his service. She, as well as all the others, knew that Moritz 
would bring his young bride with him, and regarded Hedevig 
as his wife, although she did not look exactly as Keike had 
imagined her : she was in fact an older woman, and her face 
was sorrowful. 

She was, however, greeted as the parson’s wife by Keike 
and all the women — for of men there were none just then on 
the island. They are seamen, and were with the vessels in 
Holland and Greenland, or in the fisheries. 

Moritz told them in a few words his grief and his loss, and 
the circle that had so lately stood glad and laughing, with a 
pleased “welcome home,” now became still and sorrowful, 
and they went towards the town with a silence and gravity that 
accorded with their mourning-dresses, with the gray air above 
them, with the black color which the sea had at that moment, 
and with the still, dark island. They went over the short stiff 
grass, which,. from the sea often washing over it, has a peculiar 
crispness. Some large muddy spots, some heaps of sea weed, 


WHA T HAPPENED AT DA GEBOL. 9 7 

and a few groups of sheep were the only objects that gave 
variety to the scene. 

Keike, who had hurried on before the others, came out of 
the parsonage again with the greatest haste as Moritz entered. 
She had assembled the whole flock of children in the parish : 
not one had remained at home, except one in a fever, and a 
couple that were asleep : they stopped at the door, and Keike, 
who had something concealed under her apron, looked per- 
plexed : it was something heavy that she was carrying away 
— and where to ? — she shook her head. 

Two letters, M. and C., the initials of Moritz and Caroline, 
she had bound together of grass, for she had no other green 
plant or leaf : these two letters were bound and hung up on 
the wall, as a festal greeting to the young couple, and as she 
had renewed them but a couple of days before, they were quite 
fresh ; a single aster, brought from Fohr, was stuck between 
the two letters. 

This ornament it was that she now hastened to carry 
away. 

The door to the parlor stood open, and the blue newly 
painted wainscot gave it a lively appearance. Here stood the 
piano which Moritz had bought for Caroline ; it was to have 
been her first surprise when she came ; above it hung her 
portrait, young and sprightly as she was. Moritz remained 
standing before it ; no tears came into his eyes, but he became 
deadly pale ; he then turned round to his silent congregation, 
who, as we have said, had accompanied him home. Even the 
Commander and his wife were there : both the room and 
passage were filled with persons. 

“ So glad, so happy did she look ! ” said he. “ She was my 
best treasure on this earth, and our Lord took her away from 
me. His will is the most just, even where we cannot com- 
prehend it. God has tried me severely, taken from me what 
my mind and heart leaned to, that I might hold myself faster 
to Him, and that I, in my sorrow, should understand that of 
others. Sorrow and misfortune come to us, as to Job, 
that we may understand God, ourselves, this and yonder 
world.” 

And he spoke to them of his sic^ r’s ^ittl#' lively boy, whom 
7 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


98 

our Lord had taken unto Himself. He touched on the events 
of the morning — his apprehensions, and fear for little Eliza- 
beth. 

“ I can say with Job, ‘ my stroke is heavier than my groan- 
ingy but I know that that hand will again lift me up, that 
hand will again lead me to a better life. ‘ The needy shall not 
always he forgotten ; the expectation of the poor shall not perish 
forever ! ^ 

And his speech, which flowed forth from his inwardly moved 
soul, became more and more as the voice of God ; the little 
room became a holy church, the congregation stood in pious 
devotion, and when Moritz concluded with the words of the 
psalmist, “Our Lord he is so firm a rock,” all the voices 
joined in the hymn. 

This was the entrance to his new home. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE commander’s HOUSE. 

A COUPLE of days had passed, and as yet they had heard 
nothing about little Elizabeth, though she was in the 
best health. We shall soon see her, and hear her adventures ; 
but in order to do so, and to see her safe within four walls — 
as one says — we must visit the Commander : here we find 
Moritz and Hedevig as guests. 

The dinner is ended ; the large, bright, polished coffee-can 
stands on the old carved table. 

No genre painter could find a better subject for a wealthy 
Halligers’ comfortable parlor than this was ; a model of The 
Wild Duck^ the name of the Commander’s former vessel, 
with its whole rigging, hung under the ceiling. On each side 
of the vessel two large glass balls were suspended in silk rib- 
bons, now somewhat faded : in these balls the whole room was 
reflected in miniature, and even a part of the kitchen too, for 
the door leading to it stood open, and the copper utensils 
shone bright on the shelves. One side of the room was orna- 
mented with pictures, but of ships solely ; one also saw the 
large painting with the mother of the family, Osa, — it was as 
good as a whole covering of tapestry. Then all the rococo 
furniture, and particularly the great pedestal that looked like 
a pulpit ; not to mention the company, — the Commander in 
his arm-chair, with his long pipe, Moritz on the sofa, which 
was covered with gilt leather, and both the women on chairs, 
the stiff high backs whereof invited them to sit upright. 

Geraniums and house-leek flowered in the small windows ; 
books were in the long book-case, which stretched along the 
whole breadth of the room ; a jackdaw hopped about on the 
floor ; its name was Claus, and it kept continually crying out, 
“ Claus goes in the loft with Piltitz ! ” This was all that it 


lOO 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


knew, but it was its every-day story. Piltitz was an old cat 
with whom it lived on terms of the greatest friendship, and 
went out with daily, sometimes into the street, sometimes into 
the loft, — the latter appeared to be the more interesting place 
of the two. 

In the two glass balls one had thus at once reflected, be- 
sides the Commander and his wife, the whole of their domestic 
associates and intercourse. 

Everything was shown, both above and below : the Com- 
mander had shown them his coffin which he had ordered, and 
had had ready long since. 

“ Large and roomy,” as he said, “ with mattress filled with 
shavings.” He took his regular nap in it every day after 
dinner, and assured them that the hammock was good and 
well tarred ; “ and then it will last longer than I ! ” said he. 

Madame Leyson had shown them her Elimar’s picture, or 
rather profile, cut out as a silhouette, — a terrible square lump : 
it was said to be a good likeness, only that he was much 
prettier. 

“ And then he is so amusing,” said she ; “ he calls me ‘ old 
cruiser,’ that is because I pet him. O, he is so amiable ! ” 

Of all that was shown, however, that which interested most 
was the great wooden pedestal-looking thing, with the carved 
angels, and the Virgin Mary in a cloud, whence descended 
long rays ; it was called “ the pulpit,” and it had been one. 
The Commander had been christened under it when an infant, 
and he and his now old wife had sat under it as a young 
bridal couple. It was from Rantum Church, on Sylt Island, 
which had been destroyed by quicksands. 

“ Three times was the church moved further into the land,” 
said the Commander, “ and three times was the town moved 
further in, and it was so large a town that it once lost more 
than two hundred boats in a storm. The sand-storm drives 
inwards, and the sea follows it and carries away all in its 
course ; it will take us altogether, when we are n our graves. 
But I have no objection to go to sea ! ” 

“ Don’t talk so wickedly to his reverence,” said the wife. 
“ Our Lord will hold His hand over our little island ; we have 
only the sea to fight against, but on Sylt Island they have the 


THE COMMANDER'S HOUSE. 


lOI 


sand too. I shall never forget the last time we went to Ran- 
tum Church ; it was in i8oi, when the English lay before 
Copenhagen. The sand banks had increased terribly about 
the church, which lay as it were in a deep valley ; the sand 
drifted up night and day against the walls ; it forced its way 
through the closed windows and door ; it stood in heaps on the 
church floor and in the pews ; the last church service was then 
performed there, and we had to go in at the windows ; the 
sand lay quite up to and round the altar table, where the great 
wax-lights burned.” 

“ My father bought the church,” said the Commander , 
the altar and pulpit were set up in my cabin, and went with 
me over the German Ocean. I gave the altar to a church in 
Greenland, and the pulpit stands there ! ” 

Thus there was a story connected with every piece of furni- 
ture in the rooms ; the most important perhaps was that ap- 
pertaining to the grandmother Osa, whose portrait appeared to 
Moritz to resemble the old Baroness in Funen in a remark- 
able degree. Yes, it was she, feature for feature, but in a 
Frisian dress, red and white, with the large, roomy, fur cloak, 
for which seven sheep had yielded their skins. On her head 
she wore a cap of hollow oval ornaments, joined together like 
the scales on a fish. 

The visitors, however, did not hear her story at that time, 
though it belongs to one of the finest sagas in that district. 
The soup was brought in, and with the soup followed other 
stories, — they went from Fohr to Greenland, and then to 
Varde and to China, as happens in a conversation, but with 
every article the story connected with it was touched on, ex- 
cept one. We have forgotten the most important piece of 
furniture in the house here — the most important in every 
dwelling that is at all well arranged on these islands ; nay, 
more important than Ovngrdden^ which, with its slow-burning 
fire, bakes of itself on Sundays whilst they all are at church, 
— and this is the house’s telescope, which had its place by the 
door. 

A telescope becomes a strange means of awakening the 
spirit ; it is the telegraph from the life which moves on the 
1 O’enbras, “ Ofenbrci,” of milk and flour, with pieces of bacon. 


102 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


sea. It is drawn forth in storm and shipwreck, and tells of 
death or rescue, during a long and continued east wina. 
When the sea is blown back for miles into an ebb, and the re- 
mains of sunken towns, the hulls of stranded vessels, and the 
skeletons of whales, harbors, church walls, and tomb-stones, 
protrude like ghosts from out the red sand, it is a rare and 
curious spectacle to draw the overwhelmed world nearer, by 
means of the telescope, and to make out what every object 
has been, not to speak of the daily pleasure of seeing to what 
nation the ship belongs, which now appears like a spot in 
the horizon, or to look at the small vessels crossing from 
Dagebol. 

It was the telescope which, as they now sat around the 
coffee-table, was taken down. 

“ It can haul well ! ” said the Commander, as he laid it on 
the corner of a low closet and regulated it for Moritz. “ One 
can see every man, one can know him, see every rope, and all 
that they have on board ; ” but neither the Commander nor 
Moritz saw what would have surprised and pleased them very 
much, a very little sailor-boy, who sat between some coils of 
rope. The little fellow had on sl pair of thick yellow flannel 
trousers, a long jacket of the same stuff and color, and a 
worsted cap on his head. This little fellow was Elizabeth, 
whose adventures we are to hear, but as yet she is sailing : the 
telescope was again hung up over the door. Hedevig had the 
third cup of coffee pressed on her, Claus had hopped for the 
fourth time on to the Commander’s shoulder and said, — 

“ Claus goes in the loft with Piltitz,” when Keike rushed 
into the room with the little dressed-out sailor boy, and cried, 
— “ The child has come, and here it is.” 

“ The Lord be praised ! ” exclaimed Hedevig, and ran to- 
wards Elizabeth, who began to cry and shrink from her, as if 
more than a verbal lecture was in preparation for her. One 
of the seamen waited outside the door; his message, and 
what they drew from the child by degrees, we will separate 
from each other in a more comprehensible manner than it was 
stated by them, and help it out with subordinate circum- 
stances. 

It is said that magic gold and glittering jewels are, in hu- 


THE COMMANDER'S HOUSE. 


103 

man hands, transformed to withered leaves, pieces of glass, 
and coal : thus the gleaming star on the floor that allured 
little Elizabeth, proved to be nothing else but the neck of a 
glass bottle, which the moonlight fell on through a hole in the 
roof ; she took hold of the shining glass with the most anxious 
expectation, but the moment it was touched, it lost all its 
charm. But what was still worse, a dog started up close be- 
side her with a loud bark, and had it not been bound to the 
wagon -wheel with a stout cord, it would have seized her. She 
screamed, and the dog barked still louder ; it stood right be- 
tween her and the door to the bed-chamber ; its eyes shone in 
the dark like balls of fire, so that, terrified, she climbed into 
the nearest wagon ; it was Mr. Petters’s, the horse-dealer’s ; 
she crept down into the hay that was in it, just as the Com- 
mander’s wife, awakened by the dog’s barking, had got up, 
found the door open, and thought that that was the cause of 
the dog’s noise. When she reached the door the dog turned 
towards her, and barked in that direction, and when it was 
fastened, and as Elizabeth kept quiet, it lay down again, with 
a lurking glance, and growling. 

However much frightened Elizabeth was, yet she fell asleep, 
nay slept soundly — so soundly, down in the hay — that she 
did not even know that the man came and put the horses to, 
and that Mr. Fetters got up on his seat and rolled away on 
the dike along the sea-side, southwards. 

It was quite daylight when Mr. Fetters stopped before an 
inn in Marskland ; he turned to lay his whip on the seat, 
when Elizabeth at the same moment stuck her head up out of 
the hay. 

“ What rogue are you ? was Mr. Petters’s first exclamation, 
as he raised his whip and Elizabeth screamed with fear. 
“ Who has put you into the wagon ? ” he asked with his fine, 
screaming voice, and drew her out of the hay ; “ no clothes 
on ! who has put you down there ? will you speak, hussy ? 
do you think that I am going to have such goods foisted on 
meV^ 

She could not understand him at all, but she saw that he was 
angry. 

The whip was raised again, but the woman of the inn now 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


104 

interposed, and began an examination, which was still more 
incomprehensible to the child ; the landlord laughed, clapped 
Mr. Fetters on the shoulder, and assured him that, — 

“ One had got a bad bargain, and another a good one at 
night. You got a young one last night, and I got the other 
night a piece of high Marskland, that was driven up on my 
ground.” 

“ Then I can have her put out to grass there ? ” said Mr. 
Fetters, vexatiously, and then began to question her, first in 
low German, and then in Frisian. At last the woman, who 
now struck in with Danish, ascertained thus much : that the 
child, afraid of a great dog that was going to bite her as she 
was returning to the chamber where she had come from, had 
climbed up into the wagon. Mr. Fetters now recollected that 
a little girl had come to Dagebol with the parson, and at 
length they all understood how it was. 

The child trembled with fear and cold ; she was half 
dressed, and stood without shoes in the middle of a pool of 
water, where she had been placed. The mistress of the inn 
took her into the house, and looked after a few clothes for her, 
but as there were no little girls in the house, the fisherman’s 
son had to give her a jacket and trousers, which they were 
obliged to let her wear until she could be better supplied. 
She was to be sent back to Dagebol on the first opportunity. 
The mistress of the inn predicted that as Mr. Fetters had 
thus unexpectedly got a little daughter, he would also soon, 
and as unexpectedly, get a great wife, for those two things al- 
ways followed each other, sometimes one came first, and some- 
times the other; and thus they jested and talked what they 
called amusing things, but the chorus always was : “ You 
must see my piece of high Marskland ; it comes straight from 
Scotland, or Iceland ! ” 

This piece of land which the sea had given him, was liis 
continual thought and pride. Das hohe moor^ as it is called — 
two swimming islands were added to his land. According to 
the belief of the people there, they came from the coast of 
Iceland, or from Scotland ; but it is more easily explained, 
and also more correctly, by supposing what is the only just 
opinion, that these pieces of land are parts of Friesland, which 


THE COMMANDER'S HOUSE. 


105 

has sunk, and, lifted up by the sea itself from its bottom, 
where it lay, drives about and settles on the sand banks. 

Mr. Fetters, and every traveller that came to the inn for 
the first few days, were taken out to see it, and then they had 
to stop and look at some red bricks, and a piece of timber 
that stuck fast in the ground ; it had been a house and yard, 
said the landlord, who, perhaps, told no lie when he asserted 
it. Elizabeth was more than ten times on that “ High Marsh- 
land,” during the two days she stayed with them : the mis- 
tress explained to her what she saw, and it made a deeper 
impression on her than the episode of her being away from 
Moritz and Hedevig. This little event implanted a seed in her 
mind which we shall afterwards see shoot up to an important 
and luxuriant tree. Having said thus much, we will now let 
her depart from the inn, and that with the first eel-wagon 
that goes to Dagebol ; she came there in the fisher-boy’s 
clothes, and went from there with the sailing boat to Oland, 
where, as we know, she was received with glad surprise, even 
by Claus, who said what he could say, “ Claus goes in the loft 
with Piltitz ; ” the latter alone lay, without any apparent 
sympathy, in the arm-chair, blinked with his eyes once or 
twice, and moved one of his ears ; this was all the politeness 
he showed. Hedevig wept, yet she was lively and talkative, 
contrary to custom. Moritz also felt happier, and the Com- 
mander ordered punch to be made ; for the seaman who had 
come with Elizabeth — it was Jap Lidt Fetters — should have 
his glass with them. The punch was prepared, and it must 
be drunk, and toasts too. The Commander’s wife thought 
they ought not to forget little Elimar, her joy and comfort. 
“ If he only be not sitting in the cask upon the mast ; I don’t 
like that ! ” 

“ But if he be there, there he must sit,” said the Com- 
mander, “ though you can well imagine that the fishery is now 
over, and that they are nearer to us than they are to Green- 
land. And if he has sat in the cask, he sat well. I have of- 
ten sat on watch in it, up in the mast, and peeped through the 
holes after the whales. One sits comfortably sheltered from 
the wind and cold ; and amusing enough it is to see when the 
whales come and spout up the water like jets through their 


io 6 the 'I^wo baronesses. 

nostrils, for they swim in ranks, he and she, side by side, the 
young ones behind ; and when the new-born little w'hale can- 
not keep up with them, then the mother takes him up on her 
tail. See, that is what you would also do, mother; one 
mother is just like another, even if she be only blubber and 
train oil ! and then they rub themselves on the ice- blocks, for 
they have no combs ; one must help oneself as well as one 
can ! If they lose the young one, they turn round directly, 
even if they have the harpoon in their body, and then they 
strike with their tails as if they were mad. You would also 
do that, mother, ha ! ha ! But don’t cruise too much about 
the boy when he comes ; he is quite right, when he calls 
you ‘ a cruiser,’ though it does not speak much for his educa- 
tion.” 

“ He is the sweetest lad in the world,” said the old woman, 
“ and you least of all deserve to be his grandfather ! ” With 
that she pulled her old husband by the ear, and filled the 
punch-glasses, whilst Moritz rose to break up the party, 
and Keike appeared at the door with a lighted lantern to 
show them the way home through the small pitch-dark alleys. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


A SUNDAY. 

O N Sunday all the people in the island were in church, 
also little Elizabeth, whose eyes, like those of an im- 
prisoned bird, wandered unsteadily about, sometimes to the 
peculiar mourning costume of the women, and the long linen 
kerchief which half concealed their faces ; sometimes to Saint 
Nicholas, the tutelary patron of ships, who, carved in wood, 
painted and gilt, was placed at the entrance of the choir ; 
and at last to the two portraits of the King and Queen, in gilt 
frames, which hung one on each side of the half obliterated 
altar-piece. 

When the prayer for them and the whole of the royal house 
was read from the pulpit, all eyes were turned towards these 
pictures, and every one, according to their power of imagina- 
tion, now completed for themselves a King or a Queen after 
these miserable performances that Moritz’s predecessor had 
hung up, and colored to the best of his abilities, as with the 
simple and ignorant, the natural color of the lithograph, black 
and white, would make “ a bad appearance.” Moritz read 
from the Gospel about “the widow’s son in Nain,” and trans- 
ferred it, in a comprehensible sermon, to nature itself, which 
was now enshrined, wrapped in winter’s shroud, whilst the 
storm sang of the grave and oblivion, but how the dead would 
again awake to life ; and he transferred it to the congregation 
themselves, who, wdth their beloved dead, should herein hear 
God’s voice, “ Weep not ! ” The Resurrection he pronounced 
as certain and consoling. Here, as in every one of Moritz’s 
sermons, there was a transmission, a coalescence of the Bible 
and nature : he borrowed his expressions from his congrega- 
tion, images from their business and occupations ; and as he 
knew their joys and sorrows, their mutual interests, he united 


to8 the two baronesses. 

these with his sermon, which was understood, and found an 
entrance into the spirit and thoughts of his flock. 

He did not take his sermon from the Gospel itself, but 
gave intelligible living words to those thoughts, which, in the 
reading of them, must be awakened in the mind of every 
thinking listener. Nature around them, and the events of 
their own livres, were as if enlightened by the Gospel for 
the day, or transferred to that ; and when this mental struc- 
ture had been raised, he hung his own inspiring and con- 
soling wreath upon it, and every one, even the poorest in 
thought, then returned home with some portion of the har- 
vest. 

Little Elizabeth’s rescue had this day been alluded to, and 
it had moved Keike in particular, for in a few days these two 
had become as well acquainted with each other as if they were 
old friends. 

“ Now we shall go out this afternoon and amuse ourselves,” 
said Keike, who promised Elizabeth that she would go with 
her, both to the new and the old church-yard : it was very 
pleasant indeed. 

Hand in hand, they wandered through the village, and 
across the island, which is scarcely a mile broad. Some 
sheep were nibbling the stunted grass : they were patted and 
talked to, and then the two walked on towards the sea, where 
the old church-yard was, and where the surge, in eveiy^ storm, 
had carried away parts of the low slope, and round about 
there stuck forth pieces of coffins and whole human bones. 
Keike crept down to the lowest point, and gathered up the 
bones in her apron, or they would otherwise have soon been 
washed away. These, she said, she would carry up to the new 
church-yard, and lay them in the ground there, so that they 
would at least rest in peace until the sea reached so far. 

“ Here we will not stay at night,” said she, “ for the mourn- 
ing widow, as she is called, often sits here ; ” and then Keike 
stated that it was not the ghost of a dead person, but the fig- 
ure of the living wife, whose husband was drowned at sea. 
Many a seaman’s wife had seen herself sitting here by the 
strand, dressed in mourning, and wringing her hands, and 
then she knew that her husband was dead ; she — Keike — 
had seen herself as “ the mourning widow.” 


A SUNDAY. 


109 

Such stories as these and others did Keike relate, in order 
to make their walk pleasant^ and then turned towards the new 
church-yard, where she took a spade and buried the bones of 
the dead that she had found by the strand, and then said the 
Lord’s prayer over them. 

She led little Elizabeth from grave to grave, for Keike could 
read the inscriptions and knew all the graves j on some of 
them there was raised a large and somewhat flat stone, on 
which was cut, besides the inscription, the deceased person 
himself, hovering in the clouds, and received by those previ- 
ously departed. There were many touching and many very 
short inscriptions : many appeared very curious, but this never 
came into Keike’s mind. Here on one grave-stone one might 
read that besides the husband himself, here also rested the 
bones of his still living wife. She herself had had this in- 
scription put on the stone, so that it must be true. Another 
stone was put up for a steersman, who had perished at sea, 
but whose body had never been found, and for the children he 
had left behind ; the date of the year was wanting, but there 
was a place left for it to be inserted. 

All the grave-stones were covered with a damp, green 
growth ; not a flower was to be found here ; a few box-trees 
were the only plants one saw, and these were half withered ; 
whereas a few children’s graves had pretty mosaic-like borders 
of shells and round stones, washed up by the sea. 

“There lie Jap Lidt Petters’s seven children,” said Keike. 

But who was Jap Lidt Fetters ? Well, he was the seaman 
who had brought Elizabeth here from Dagebol, and who got 
his glass of punch at the Commander’s, as good as Madame 
Leyson could make it. 

When they returned to the parsonage, Keike told them how 
well they had amused themselves, and that they had been at 
both church-yards. 

The words Elizabeth had heard, “ that the buried bones 
would now rest in peace in the new church-yard, until the sea 
reached there,” had made a deep impression on her. Then 
the sea could come there, come right up to the parsonage, nay, 
even run into the room. She asked Keike about it, and she 
replied with the greatest calmness, that it might happen at any 


I lO 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


time ; and then she told — what she knew well — about old 
days ; that many hundred years since, all the islands about 
here had been one, but the sea had come and swallowed up 
towns and churches ; people had swam about on beams and 
rafters ; cradles, with little children in them, were driven out 
to sea ; then the land had become many islands, but afterwards, 
one island after the other had been washed away, or become 
less and less, from the inroads of the sea. 

Fohr and Sylt had, however, then been one land, and there 
was a large town, Rungholt, where the people were very 
wicked. Some bad persons there had made a sow drunk, 
laid it in a bed, and then sent for the parson to administer the 
Sacrament to a sick person, and if he refused, he would be 
thrown into the water. He came, and whilst they were de- 
bating, he escaped ; but on his way home, two wicked fellows 
met him near a public house, and forced him to accompany 
them into the tap-room, and tell them where he had been ; 
and when he told them how he had been made a mockery of, 
they laughed, took the box from him, in which he carried the 
Sacramental cup and wine, and poured ale into it ; “ For our 
god there,” said they, “ as he should have a little to drink.” 
When the parson got it back again, and made his escape, he 
carried it to the church, and prayed to God to punish those 
wicked wretches, and at night, as he lay in his bed, he was 
warned by God to leave the land in all haste, and then the 
storm began, and the water rose — all Rungholt and seven 
church-villages sank ; the parson, his servant-maid, and two 
young girls who had been in the church, alone escaped. 

“ That race still lives,” added Keike ; “ they are called Boye- 
sen ; and it is sure, that before the day of judgment, Rung- 
holt will rise again from the sea with all that were in it. When 
the water is still and clear, one can yet see houses, church- 
towers, and mills ; I have not seen them myself, for I shut my 
eyes, but there was such a ringing in my ears, — it was the 
church-bells that rung ! ” 

Little Elizabeth sat quite pale, looked at Keike, and swal- 
lowed every word, as she had swallowed the stories she had 
heard at Katrineson’s, the clerk’s, in Funen. 

“But can the sea come up to this house and wash us 
away ? ” she asked. 


A SUNDAY. 


1 1 1 


“ It can wash the house, and us, and all the islands away ; 
and that will happen one day, but it may be in a hundred 
years to come, and then we shall be dead ; it might also hap- 
pen to-night, but it will not. O, the sea is terrible ! I have 
seen it, and I have the proofs of it in my time. It was in the 
year 1824 that there was a flood ; the sea went over all these 
islands j we had to drive the sheep up into the lofts, and were 
obliged to go up there ourselves, and the sea beat against the 
walls so that the stones were loosened, and the walls fell 
down, and the sea rushed through the rooms : where the 
beams had not fallen down, the people sat on the roofs, — we 
sat there for two nights, and not a boat could come to us from 
Fbhr, nor from the Marskland. O ! when the first boat 
came with bread and water, fresh, drinkable water, it was as 
if our Lord himself came and said, ‘Now everything is 
well ! » » 

And tears stood in Keike’s eyes, and also in little Eliza- 
beth’s, but in the latter’s it was from fear and dread, for she 
saw it just as vividly as it was in Keike’s thoughts. 

We should, however, do great injustice to Keike, if we sup- 
posed she filled Elizabeth’s imagination only with pictures of 
dread and terror. She told also the prettiest stories she could 
think of, and which she knew from printed books. Yes, one 
of them — it was about Priest John, who was a Frisian 
king’s son — she had retained in her memory, and repeated it 
word for word as in the book. She knew also that about “ Mr. 
Peter with the silver key ; ” about “ Malusine ; ” and about 
“ Whittington and his Cat ; ” so that every evening went on 
charmingly. 

It was bed-time, when there was a knocking at the door ; 
Madame Leyson herself had come to say that there was a 
ship at anchor out by Seesand, and that she and the Com- 
mander himself had seen through the telescope that it was 
“The Three Sisters,” and therefore the vessel that Elimar 
was on board of ; he, the sweetest and cleverest boy the 
world possessed. Madame Leyson laughed, and yet she was 
almost in tears. 

“ If this night were only gone ! ” said she ; “ for now I can- 
not sleep before I have him in the room ! ” 


II2 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


There was a pecking at the door. 

“ It cannot possibly be him ! she exclaimed ; “he cannot 
come before to-morrow ! ” 

Nor was it he. 

The door was opened, and the tame jackdaw that had fol- 
lowed Madame Leyson to the house now hopped in ; he had 
been tired of waiting outside, and therefore pecked at the 
door for admittance ; he said all he could say, “ Claus goes 
in the loft with Piltitz ! ” and it was said with just such an ex- 
pression as would lead one to think that he also was glad of 
Elimar’s arrival, which, however, was an event that he had the 
least cause to be glad of, as the story will show. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ELIMAR. — A WINTER LIFE. — A PERILOUS SITUATION. 



HE next day Elimar stood in the middle of the room, 


X and it was not that square lump which the silhouette 
portrayed, but a pretty lad of fourteen years, with bright 
blue eyes and light curling hair, that contrasted with his 
cheeks, which were tanned brown, from exposure to the wind 
and weather. He seemed to be an active lad, and one might 
also call him somewhat mischievous-looking. He had now 
made his first great voyage, and grown on the way full two 
inches. The measure of his height, when he had set out, was 
marked on the door-post. 

“ He has made the voyage to Greenland,” said Madame 
Leyson ; “ nay, one may also say the voyage to America : it 
amounts to the same thing. Greenland is close to it, my old 
man says, and as Greenland was first discovered by the Nor- 
wegians, so it is in fact we here in the north that discovered 
America, and not that Columbus ; but let him have the honor, 
I have now my sweet boy. Come and kiss your grand- 
mother.” 

“You kiss Piltitz, and let me go,” said Elimar with a mo- 
rose face. “ It is just as if I were a baby ! ” 

“ O, you dear angel ! ” said Madame Leyson, with half-ex- 
tended arms, and happy in regarding him ; but Elimar went 
up to the window, where he wound the string of the window- 
blind round his finger, and when his grandmother came nearer 
to him he made a pull so that it sounded, “ ritsch ! ritsch ! ” 
and away went the blind, 

“ Then you might have kept away from me,” said Elimar ; 
“ now you have got that to sew together, and then I shall be 
free so long.” And he took up the jackdaw as it hopped 


8 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


II4 

along the floor, and pinched it between his fingers, so that it 
screamed with terror, “ Claus goes in the loft with Piltitz ! ” 
and as Piltitz chanced to be lying close by in the chair, Elimar 
sat the terrified Claus right on the head of Piltitz, and as 
Claus stretched out his legs and claws, he did not let them 
pass very lightly over the cat’s fur. The whole was but the 
work of a moment, but during that moment that fine, lively 
face had an expression of ferocity. Madame Leyson knew it 
well j she herself had, one may almost say, fostered it. “ Now 
you are like Jes Jappen,” was all that she said, and Elimar 
understood her, but cared nothing about it ; he was the very 
rudest of boys towards her, but this she tried to deny to every 
one and to herself, though she had done everything to spoil 
him by indulgence. When he, as a little one, deserved a good 
flogging with the birch, it was always, “ The child is sick,” or 
-else, “ He is the mildest and most obedient lamb.” 

When she begged him to take the greatest care not to spill 
his coffee over the new sofa and chair covers, it ran directly 
from the cup over chair and sofa ; and then the sweet child 
was inattentive and heedless ! 

Keike could also tell about Elimar, and the deceased par- 
son’s wife knew it if she could get up out of her grave. They 
knew a story about him, a story of some consequence, and 
they had then said, “ Now you are like Jes Jappen. It was 
during the time that Moritz’s predecessor was alive, where 
Keike was in service. She, the parson’s wife, and Madame 
Leyson^ sat sewing round a little table ; Elimar would have 
that table, and as the parson’s wife refused it in the most posi- 
tive manner, Elimar went home, took down the Commander’s 
pistol, which was always loaded, then returned to the parson- 
age, and when the women least suspected it, he fired off the 
pistol right over their heads, so that the whole three fell down 
on the floor, and when they lay there, Elimar took the table, 
and bore it away in triumph. “ Such a one was he.” 

This story had not only reached Fohr and Dagebol, but was 
known in the Duchies, though it had not yet come to the 
Commander’s ears, as almost all these “ indications of charac- 
ter,” as Madame Leyson called them, were carefully concealed 
from him. The Commander himself, however fond he might 


ELIMAR. 


II5 

be of his grandson, never entered into conversation with him, 
but was chary of his words towards him ; in short he was a 
Commander, and Elimar was a ship-boy ; and on these terms 
they went on best of all. Though this year, it was not to be 
concealed, he heard, with no small degree of pleasure, Elimar 
talk about Greenland and the Greenlanders, whom he himself 
knew so well \ but yet Elimar told it best to Keike and little 
Elizabeth, in whom he had also the best listeners. 

The swinish manners of the Greenlanders, which were de- 
picted in all their filthiness, interested Keike in particular, 
who was cleanliness personified. 

On the contrary, the description of the floating icebergs 
which resembled churches and palaces, the whales that spouted 
up jets of water through their nostrils, and their little carriages 
with ten or sixteen dogs before them, was the most interesting 
to Elizabeth. However, Keike complained that Elimar had 
become mischievous, and impudent in a new way, and that 
he already began to talk about sweethearts ; that he had also 
learned of Jes Jappen. 

And who was Jes Jappen? — the name was Frisian, and a 
very good one, but he who bore it was but ill regarded, parti- 
cularly by Madame Leyson, and would have been still more 
so if Elimar had told his last story about him ; but that was 
nothing to tell, he thought. Jes Jappen was caboose-boy on 
board “The Three Sisters,” and had been punished there 
several times for his bad disposition and rude temper ; at last 
they had put him into another vessel, so that they were quit 
of him. He and Elimar had shortly before been fighting, and 
Jes Jappen had then made use of his clasp knife; this Ma- 
dame Leyson ought to have known, but Elimar said nothing. 

“ I beat him,” thought he, “ and if I had had my clasped 
knife, I should have stabbed again.” 

Jes Jappen’s mother had been in service at the Command- 
er’s, but had been sent away as a useless person. 

Jes had afterwards been rude to Madame Leyson, who had 
seen proof of his bad tricks, she said, — and an expression of 
the worst evil she knew, was, she insisted, to be seen in that 
boy’s face ; therefore her “You are like Jes Jappen,” was the 
severest expression she could make use of. 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


Il6 

That both the boys resembled each other in violence and 
mischievous tricks is certain, but in which of them it will 
sprout, be the greatest, or come to the most vigorous develop- 
ment, time will show. Jes Jappen was the servant girl’s child, 
poor, without resources ; Elimar was the wealthy Command- 
er’s indulged grandson. 

Elizabeth and Elimar, however, agreed best together: the 
little strangely reserved girl attached him towards her ; here 
he felt himself the superior, the protector. These two were 
often seen sitting in a boat, and he rowed over to the other 
Halligers, nay, even to Fohr and Amrom. There they walked 
together in the dikes, and he helped her to gather flowers, and 
collect stones. They played in miniature Ingomar and Par- 
thenia ; ^ they went together to the old and new church-yards, 
sat with the sheep in the pastures, and visited the fishermen. 

On these wanderings, Elimar had sometimes his bad mo- 
ments ; violence burst forth, and then changed to slavish 
adoration, to the sincerest expression of affection, and desire 
to please his companion. She was regarded by most people 
as a rude, uncouth child, and they found that this coarseness 
increased every day : this Elimar did not notice ; as children 
in general understand other children best, and are understood 
again by them. 

She often sat, as they said, quite thoughtless, and scratched 
figures in the sand with a stick ; it looked like an idle trick, 
and Hedevig would say, — 

“ Is that employment for a great girl to sit so, and scrape 
in the sand without thought or meaning ? ” 

But thought was there. In those strokes, and that loose 
sand, lay the fata-morgana buildings which, when described, 
became visible to Elimar ; she explained to him the whole 
glorious structure. It was a sort of outline of the palace and 
garden she would erect if she became great and immensely 
rich. The palace and the garden should be placed by the 
sea, but not on Oland, where the place was too small, but 
over on Fohr. Trees should be brought from the woods in 
Funen ; foliage, as at the Baroness’s manor, should grow up 
the walls right to the chimney ; silk and velvet hang on the 
^ Halm’s Sohn der Wildnis. 


ELIMAR. 


II7 

walls, and gold and silver candlesticks, like those on the altar 
table, stand with lighted candles the whole night. O, it was 
so delightful to imagine, so easy to sketch, — it was the rooms 
and the walks in the garden that she drew in the sand, and 
saw completed, saw them in imagination so vivid and com- 
plete. As she was thus one day in the very best and most in- 
teresting part of her description, Elimar sprang into the sand 
and scraped with his boot to the right and left, so that the 
whole was rubbed out, and he shouted, — 

“ Now comes the sea ! huss, buss ! — and washes away the 
whole ! ” and it was to Elizabeth as if he had overthrown the 
reality, and the tears stood in her eyes ; but Elimar laughed 
and shouted, “ The sea comes ! ” took the great girl on his 
back, and ran off with her as fast as he could. She screamed, 
and when he set her down again, and saw that the tears still 
ran down her cheeks, he asked, — 

“ What are you crying for ? you are a stupid child. There 
was neither palace nor garden, it was nonsense altogether ; ” 
and he ran and romped with her till the sorrow was forgotten. 
They were down by the sea, just where the old church-yard 
lay ; they looked at the vessels at a distance, large and small, 
and then Elimar told her how his ship' should be equipped, — 
there could be a private cabin and mainmast, and that was 
something different to her palace, which she only imagined, 
and which would never have existence. 

“ But no ship can be as large as a palace,” said Elizabeth ; 
there is no ship like the old Baroness’s palace,” — and then 
she told him about the room where the old portraits hung be- 
hind the living foliage ; she depicted the manor-house as 
larger than all Oland, and so large no ship could be. 

“ The giant-ship is still greater,” said Elimar, and told her 
about the phantom-ship, which the seaman here believes in. 
“ It sails out in the great ocean, and it is larger than any of 
the islands here ; the deck is so long that the Commander on 
board is always on horseback to give his orders ; the rigging 
is so large that the young sailors climb up and roll about on 
the maintop ; then years pass away before they are ready to 
sail, and they come down old men, with white hair I ” 

“ But, where do they get food from ? ” asked Elizabeth. 


ii8 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


“ There are inns in all the cross-heads in the rigging, where 
they can go in. Jap Lidt Petters’s father was once on board 
when he was a boy. They had got into that sea which they 
call the Channel, there by England, and as it is but a few 
miles broad, between land and land, the ship stuck fast, and 
they had to smear the coasts with soft soap, and since that 
time they have always shone.” 

And Elimar believed what had been told him. 

“ I shall meet sometime with the giant ship,” said he, “ and 
I am not afraid ! ” 

Little Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, then begged him not 
to go on board, and above all things “ not to come home again 
as an old man with white hair and a white beard ! ” 

“ But then you will be an old woman, when I return,” was 
his answer. “Can you not understand that just as many 
years will pass over your head ; you will surely not have me 
for a sweetheart ! ” 

And he looked at her with a laughing face, while at the 
same time he drew out a couple of loose human bones that 
projected above ground, and threw them far out into the 
water. 

“You must not do that,” said Elizabeth; “they must be 
buried over again there by the church.” 

“ Must I not ! ” he repeated, and took up one of the largest 
he could find, which he was just about to fling into the sea ; 
but he let it alone, saying, — 

“Yes ; will you be my sweetheart when you are grown up? 
it cannot be so long now, and a sailor must have a sweetheart ! 
I shall soon be fourteen years old.” 

He then took Elizabeth round the neck and kissed her. 

“You shall not say anything about this to the others, nor 
yet to Keike, for she would gladly have me for a sweetheart if 
I would, but she is too old ; you, on the contrary, are just 
suitable. The men should always be older ! ” 

Elizabeth listened to him as if he told her one of his sto- 
ries ; but to be sweethearts she thought was amusing, and she 
held him still faster by the hand. 

One day passed quietly on like the other, and the autumn 
storm blew, and the sea rolled over the flat island ; town and 


ELIMAR. 


V II9 

church lay like a wreck in the midst of the waters ; the inhab- 
itants were quite separated for many days from the continent 
and the other islands. 

In flood-time and stormy weather it was quite strange to 
Hedevig, who was quite unaccustomed to these scenes : she 
could not sleep for the thundering sound of the sea and the 
waves, which, in long, broken surges, reached almost up to the 
house, against whose walls she expected that some ship would 
one day be dashed. 

At the Commander’s everything went on in its old way, 
except a few connubial disputes which Elimar was the occa- 
sion of. 

“ The wild cat becomes too mad,” said the Commander. 
But the grandmother always knew how to find out something 
excellent in what the boy did, or to take away the blame from 
him, even when grandmother Osa’s portrait was found with its 
eyes put out. 

“ It was the worms,” she said, “ that had gnawed two round 
holes so accurately in the eyes of the old portrait.” 

Between Claus and Piltitz there had become somewhat of a 
coolness, occasioned by Elimar’s tricks, and which ended trag- 
ically. The old cat had not understanding enough to see 
that the whole blame was attributable to Elimar, and that not 
the least could be attached to the poor jackdaw; for it was in 
convulsive terror that Claus stretched out legs and claws, and 
it was Elimar who drew them like a comb over Piltitz’s head 
and back. But Piltitz was no thinker, however much he had 
the appearance of one, — a peculiarity we often see in men. 
Piltitz discarded all feelings of friendship, and one day they 
all heard — but they were so accustomed to hear that story — 
Claus goes into the loft with Piltitz ! ” It was uttered so 
loud, that it ought to have awakened attention to it, but it 
awoke none, although it was often repeated, and was so loud 
and strong. They heard it from the stairs, from the loft, but 
each time w'eaker; at last it was no longer heard, and that 
was not the worst. 

In the course of an hour after they saw Piltitz stretch him- 
self in his chair with a gloomy look. Claus did not appear ; 
he was not to be found, neither in the house, nor at the neigh- 


120 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


bors^ Poor Claus ! the friend of his youth had taken him by 
the back, dragged him into the loft, and devoured him : the 
feathers lay strewed about, so that the story really ended with 
“ Claus going into the loft with Piltitz.” 

This was the first time that Madame Leyson was really 
angry with Elimar. 

“You are the cause of it,” she said, “you are still worse 
than Jes Jappen ; ” and that was the very worst she could say, 
and she burst into tears, perhaps because she had said it. 
“For shame of yourself!” she added in a milder tone; 
“ Claus and Piltitz were always fond of each other, and lived 
so united and happily ; you have set them by the ears, just as 
you do me and the Commander.” 

Elimar laughed, and assured her that the Commander would 
not drag her up into the loft and eat her ; and then he took 
his grandmother round the waist, swung her round in a waltz, 
and she laughed. 

“ I cannot help it,” said she, “ for he has now that sweet, 
handsome face, and is, in fact, a good child ; yes, that you are, 
my dear boy.” Thus the reconciliation was concluded. 

But there was not one on the whole island who did know 
that Claus was dead, and that Elimar was the cause of it. 

The winter came with storms and sea-fogs. During the 
long evenings, Moritz and Hedevig read aloud, alternately, 
Walter Scott’s novels, — those true pictures drawn from life 
and nature. They read “ Waverley ” and “Rob Boy.” 

The Commander and his wife were listeners, and as inter- 
ested listeners as but few have; this reading was to them 
a part of their lives : they seemed to have lived with Fergus 
MTvor, Rose, and Flora ; and thought they had seen and 
known M’Gregor and Diana Vernon. 

The descriptions were transferred to what they themselves 
knew and had experienced : the connection between the Scotch 
and the Frisians was so close, not alone in the language, but 
in old habits and customs. The Frisians had, like the Scotch, 
their clans; two of the most powerful of these families are 
still amongst the inhabitants of Ditmarsk, the Boyers and Re- 
ventlows. Here, also, sanguinary revenge reigned almost as 
long as in the mountains of Scotland. 


A WINTER LIFE. 


I2I 


This was also spoken of: the living word proceeded from 
that which was read. The Scotchman’s emblem is a flower- 
ing thistle, so significant of his mountain life. The Frisian’s, 
on the contrary, is a soup-kettle over the fire ; yet they found 
in this a connection : the emblem of home. The partial Scot 
sees it in the flower of his mountains; the Frisian in his 
hearth, to which the whole of these people’s endeavors are 
turned ; for their hearths they combated ; their hearts are 
wedded to home. 

History, legends, old customs, and usages, filled, as it were, 
the furrow more and more which the sea had made between 
Scotland and the Cimbric peninsula. 

“ But these lands, you know, were once united,” said Ma- 
dame Leyson ; “ at least, England was joined to Sleswick and 
Jutland. It is an old saga., that a whole chain of mountains 
united England with our land ; and the English queen was to 
have been married to the Danish king, but he deceived her. 
Then, in her vexation, she ordered seven hundred men to dig 
through the green hills that restrained the sea on both sides, 
and the seas rushed through and joined, swallowed up all the 
islands, and overflowed the whole of Friesland, which became 
the island it now is.” 

Moritz then related about the immigration of the Angles 
from these districts to England and Scotland ; and the Com- 
mander proved that even “ The Wild Duck,” which his vessel 
was called after, screamed good English and Scotch, as it 
cried, “ Go-day ! go- day ! ” 

The many stories and sagas that exist among the Frisian 
people, the whole life on these coasts and islands, awakened 
regret that no Walter Scott had been born in these lands, and 
that the Frisians were almost without an author. 

“ Yes,” said Moritz, “ here are materials, but they still lie 
like the marble in the quarry, and await the sculptor. It is 
said there were many heroes before Homer’s time, but the 
world knows nothing of them.” 

“ What an excellent story might be made about grandmother 
Osa ; that was a woman ! And then it is all true that is told 
about her.” 

Moritz had only heard the story twice. Hedevig once, so 


122 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


that it might very well be told again, and it was so, but we will 
not hear it yet, — we will wait for a better opportunity, con- 
vinced that Madame Leyson will relate it again if she lives, 
and we will hope that she may do so. During all these con- 
versations and readings, not only Elimar and Elizabeth were 
present, but even Keike, who was perhaps the most enthusias- 
tic for the Scottish poet. Elizabeth, however, understood but 
little of it : she was as yet not far advanced in German, and it 
was in that language that Walter Scott was read. Thus the 
winter passed. 

The drift-ice had laid itself like a bulwark around the isl- 
and ; then came gray foggy days ; at length the first beams 
of the sun broke forth, and spring came. The only tree on 
the island, the little gooseberry bush, which stood sheltered, 
shot forth fresh green shoots ; the sunshine caused its fine 
leazes to unfold themselves : this renewed life brought tears 
into the eyes of Moritz j the green shoots of spring awakened 
more sadness than the falling leaves of autumn ; the silent 
sunshine thawed, as it were, the pain. He looked at the full- 
blown buds of the gooseberry bush, and thought of Caroline, 
who had possessed life’s freshness, just like it, and who was 
now but dust under the earth. 

Elimar, who during the whole winter had shown himself an 
active sportsman, shot and caught wild ducks, and eider-ducks, 
nay even a swan, which Jap Lidt Fetters had stuffed for Ma- 
dame Leyson. He was also the most courageous in springing 
about on the floating sheets of ice, and the first to put his boat 
out to sea. He was to make a voyage to Holland this spring, 
and he made himself happy with the thought ; he had been 
told that it was a splendid country, the very semblance of 
Marskland, and besides that, there were great cities, splendid 
and powerful. In consequence of this voyage Elimar was 
obliged to go for several days to Fohr, and this occasioned 
great regret to Elizabeth ; even Keike’s stories afforded her no 
consolation. The departure of the Halligers and the Fohr- 
ingians takes place on a fixed day in the spring. The week 
before this Elimar was again with Commander Leyson, and it 
was there determined between the two families, the Command- 
er’s and the Parson’s, that they would pay a visit to some 


A PERILOUS SITUATION. 


123 

friends in Amrom, and Elimar should also have the pleasure of 
accompanying them, for he must at all events bid farewell to 
their friends and acquaintances. 

Amrom, with its white sand dikes, is a complete highland 
when compared with Halliger ; the children know well where 
the most rabbits hide themselves there, and where the prettiest 
heath-flowers bloom behind the dikes. The wind was favora- 
ble, so that it was but a short sailing tour ; both families were 
received with great pleasure and exultation. The best viands 
were brought forth, the great coflee-can made its appearance ; 
the men talked about their concerns, and the women about 
theirs. Elizabeth was out of the room, and Elimar sneaked 
away soon afterwards ; he passed through the kitchen, and as 
there was no one there he peeped into the soup-kettles and 
drawers. Some fishing-tackle lay in a corner, and he felt a 
great desire to try it ; the box in which it was and which is 
made to be carried on the back, he must also have with him ; 
therefore, without further ceremony, he threw it over his 
shoulder, and was out of the house in a moment. 

Close by the house sat Elizabeth, looking at a hole in the de- 
clivity where the rabbits had burrowed deep under the heath ; 
she had seen a couple of them run into the opening. The 
most abundant game on Amrom are the rabbits, all of which 
are the descendants of one single couple that were stranded 
here on the island several years ago. Elizabeth pointed to 
the opening, and Elimar immediately laid down on his stom- 
ach, peeped into the dark passage, and threw stones in, but 
the rabbits kept themselves quiet. Three others, on the con- 
trary, appeared on the top of the slope, but these, directly they 
saw him, immediately turned round with a comic spring, and 
took the way to the nearest dikes. Elimar started off after 
them, and Elizabeth followed him at a slower rate ; the rab- 
bits stopped every moment, turned their heads, made a high 
jump, then ran close together, and again apart from each 
other, then suddenly disappeared in the foremost valley of the 
dikes. 

Elimar stood still a long time, looked about on all sides, 
and then returned to Elizabeth. They were a considerable 
distance from home ; but here, where they stood, between the 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


124 

sand banks, it was delightfully warm. Elizabeth sat down, 
she was so tired, and he lay down in the sand beside her. 
But he did not lie long before he sprang up again, pulled the 
long roots of the lyme-grass, that hangs like ribbons from the 
slopes of the dikes, and whole shoals of sand rolled down. 
One must not imagine the dikes to be like a chain of moun- 
tains, — he would not have pulled up the wild plants from 
their sides — no, they present the most singular shapes! 
Where the sea can operate against them with much force, 
they are cut off at the bottom as if it were with a spade, — 
one fancies one sees a range of grayish-white, colossal walls, 
on the top of which the lyme-grass grows, and about whose 
sides the roots hang forth like creeping plants, whilst down in 
the gray damp soil appear strange, almost circular figures, im- 
pressed by the sea, as if it were its mysterious writing, left to 
announce what riches and horrors it conceals. 

Elimar crawled up one of the high sand dikes, and Eliza- 
beth, of course, attempted the same : it was one of the high- 
est they were now on, and whence they saw the whole North 
Sea, which, during the ebb, had receded from the land for 
miles around ; not a breeze was stirring. 

They did not stand long, for they could not avoid the temp- 
tation of going out on the firm, wet sand, where there lay so 
many stones and shells about: there was also a whole bottle, 
well corked. Elimar held it up against the sun, and saw that 
there was a paper in it, and so they broke the bottle. The 
paper was written on, but in a language Elimar did not under- 
stand ; yet this much he knew, and he explained it to Eliza- 
beth, that the ship had struck, and that at the last moment 
they had written this paper on board, and put it in the bottle, 
that some one might be informed when and where they had 
perished, and the name of the ship. 

Elizabeth found a curious yellow stone ; it looked like can- 
died sugar, but it was a fine large piece of amber; and when 
she rubbed it on her arm till it became warm, it attracted 
pieces of straw. This day was a real lucky day for finding 
things, so they continued their way further and further out. 
All around it was like a net of water stretched over the whole 
sandy bottom. At some distance out were some high stones, 


A PERILOUS SITUATION. 


125 

and between these they found pieces of a rudder, a glazed hat 
without a crown, also some variegated mussel-shells ; and, 
what was still finer, there were two large fishes sprawling 
about in a pool of water. Elimar would take them with his 
hands, but they glided from him again j but caught they must 
be. Elizabeth stood on one of the large stones and looked 
on. The time went on pleasantly, it was quite calm, and the 
sun shone delightfully. Then Elimar remarked that the 
ground began to be more damp, that the net of water became 
fuller, and that it was therefore time to return, as the tide 
would soon be rising. 

He looked towards Amrom, which might be about four hun- 
dred paces distant, but it was as if the island had suddenly 
sunk. A fog from the north rolled forward, and had quite 
enveloped the nearest sand hills, and in the next moment 
both the wanderers too ; the sunshine was hidden from them, 
the sun became redder and redder. Elimar seized Elizabeth 
by the hand, and hastened towards the island. 

“ I am so afraid,” cried Elizabeth ; “ where is Amrom ? 
and where are my shoes and stockings ? I must have them ! ” 

She had just taken them off, and was about to go into the 
pool to Elimar and the fishes, when the fog was observed. 
Elimar turned round ; the shoes must be on the great stone 
where she had sat ; they had glided down, but were found. 
The fog was icy cold and thick. Elimar now took Elizabeth 
on his back and hastened away ; but the different branches of 
what we have called the water-net, formed by the standing 
water-ripts and pools, increased ; they were obliged to go 
round, and when he thought they were close to the sand-dikes 
he stood by the same stones they had left. He struck his foot 
against some object ; it was the little wooden box in which 
the fishing-tackle lay, and which in his haste he had forgotten j 
he took it up, but he was now quite at a loss to know in what 
direction the island lay. To shout and scream was of no use 
whatever ; but yet he shouted. The tide already rolling on, 
the first long wave struck over his feet. He then lifted little 
Elizabeth up to the highest stone, and sat down by her side ; 
the next sea came stronger, but as it rose higher and higher 
up over the sandy bottom, the motion became weaker, for it 
was a dead calm. 


126 


THE -I WO BARONESSES. 


Elizabeth did not cry j it was as if she understood the 
whole danger ; pale and with a strange look she regarded Eli- 
mar. The tide rose and rose, so that he was obliged to stand 
up on the stone beside her, though there was scarcely place 
for two. He again shouted with all the strength of despair 
that he possessed : now he fancied that he heard a dog bark, 
though it was certainly from a very different direction to that 
where he thought Amrom lay ; perhaps some one was ap- 
proaching in a boat. The fog became thinner for a moment, 
so that he knew by the lighter part of the sky where the sun 
was, and it became his compass. Amrom lay just in that 
direction whence he fancied he heard the bark of a dog, but 
that had quite ceased, and the sea rose higher and higher. 

The water was now over their feet on the great stone. 
Elizabeth could not stand fast ; she clung to Elimar, and they 
both fell down into the water, but he got her quickly up again 
on the stone : he himself stood below in the water, which 
reached to his breast, and held her with both his arms. The 
tide continued to increase, and he then hastily pushed the box 
with the fishing-tackle under his feet, so that he got a good 
way higher up, and his head was now almost on a level with 
Elizabeth’s. 

There was no motion of the waves ; the surface of the 
water rose quite silently, as if it were not that which rose, but 
as if the two who stood there sank gently down to the bottom 
of the still water. Elimar uttered a despairing cry, but it 
was not answered ; every minute that passed the watery mir- 
ror came higher, — it would soon be over their heads. Eli- 
mar was pale as death ; the tears stood in his eyes, and he 
kissed little Elizabeth, who threw her arms round his neck. 
The water had now risen to their breasts, and began to buoy 
them up ! 

A voice then sounded close by ; the plashing of oars was 
heard, and a boat, in which sat a man, was seen through the 
fog; it came nearer ; it was Jap Lidt Fetters, who had heard 
the scream, and had come just in time to their aid ; he got 
them quickly into the boat, and then with rapid strokes made 
towards 01 and. 

Here he learned from them how it was that they had got 


A PERILOUS SITUATION. I 27 

into the danger and peril in which he had found them, and 
that both the Commander and the Parson’s family were on a 
visit on Amrom ; accordingly, as soon as he had delivered 
Elizabeth over to Keike, who immediately put her to bed, and 
Elimar had gone home to do the same service to himself, Jap 
sailed over to Amrom to tell them, though without entering 
into minute particulars, that they were both at home and 
taken care of. 

Elimar received no injury from the immersion, but Eliza- 
beth, on the contrary, was obliged to keep her bed for some 
days, and could not go to Fohr on the day of the seamen’s 
departure ; but her thoughts were there, and foremost among 
them was the heroic Elimar, with vivid distinctness. In the 
few minutes, when the sea united them, they had become in- 
dissolubly bound together for all time. A feeling had been 
awakened like that which exercised its influence at equally as 
young an age in Ariosto, in Byron, and others, whose names 
irradiate our every-day life. 

On the day of departure men and women had assembled in 
the village of Gothing, on Fohr, to bid farewell to their rela- 
tives and friends. The little vessels glided from the shore ; 
the crowd of women in their black dresses stood on the high- 
est point of land, an old tumulus, and from thence they 
waved to their beloved ones the last farewell. 


CHAPTER XV. 


A FEW YEARS. — AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE MAKES HIS 
APPEARANCE. 

OT before seven or eight months could Elimar be ex- 



pected to return ; this appeared to Elizabeth to be a 
long, long time, and she was quite dejected ; but how would 
she have borne it, had she known that months of hope often 
in reality become years ; that the day of his return would 
be still more distant than the one she now least thought of, 
her confirmation day ? 

On that day, “ the child is shaken off the arm,” says the 
phrase ; on that day, the voyage begins on life’s open sea : 
it is a serious, solemn day, and we will now hasten to it, and 
to those singular events which then unfolded themselves, but 
not before we have collected, as in one great frame, the inter- 
vening years, and presented to view, what may, in Elizabeth’s 
life, be called “ Home on the Halligers.” 

As a fortunate counterbalance to that imaginative and 
superstitious world into which Keike’s stories betrayed Eliza- 
beth, was that healthy nature and sensible industry which 
Hedevig always sought to lead her into. She had to learn to 
sew and knit, she knew a little music — and Elizabeth was 
singularly quick at learning, comprehended all that she was 
taught, and disclosed unusual talents ; it was Hedevig’s 
delight to direct her intelligent observations to nature ; that 
and the Bible were the two books that always lay opened, the 
first around them, and the last within the house. Both were 
read, both reflected a lustre on that home, and penetrated 
those who dwelt there. Hedevig, with her still affectionate 
manner, was a blessing. She lived entirely for her brother 
and the child she had adopted ; there was poetry in her soul, 
although she herself knew it not, and by the aid of that, she 


A FEW YEARS. 


129 

comprehended everything, and her eye would then beam 
strangely, as that of a crying child will sparkle when sorrow 
suddenly gives place to joy. 

“How poor,” she thought, “are great cities, with their 
societies, parties, and plays, compared with that affectionate 
family life here in solitude, — or that grand spectacle which 
the sea and sky present to us every morning and evening ! ” 

Nevertheless, how the rest of the world went on, they 
knew ; the newspapers were sent round from one to the other, 
even if a week old, and books came every month. The newer 
productions of modern literature found their way to this re- 
mote corner of the w'orld. Before that small public, as if 
before a second judgment- seat, many a book, well-advertised 
and flourishingly announced, sank before nature’s criticism ; 
the admired but meretricious art, in w'hich there was no in- 
ward truth, here found its level. 

Here,'where those two books. Nature and the Bible, were 
the chief and exemplars of all writings, a different measure 
of excellence from that which fashion prescribes w'as exacted. 

This intimacy with the Book of books, and the opportunity 
of reading aloud therefrom to his private circle and his con- 
gregation, just, as Moritz’s heart dictated, led him, not alone 
from the pulpit to point to God, but from the low shores of 
the strand, from the dikes of the neighbor islands — and men 
in all ages have understood such significant lessons. 

He regarded nothing as accidental, but, on the contrary, as 
a link in the great chain ; in the most insignificant things he 
often found the germ of something great and important, and 
he led the thoughts and attention of others to it. He taught 
them how a single weed which the wind drives up on the 
coast, and which takes root there, may perhaps in centuries 
become a safeguard for the country against the encroachments 
of the sea. The insignificant weed gathers the loose sand 
around it ; it grows and grows, and at last stands like a pro- 
tecting sand-dike. Yet do not depend on such! — in them 
behold the fall of power and greatness 1 — nothing in the 
world is durable. Yonder, where the sea breaks against the 
shoals, there stood, not many years ago, a mighty sand bank ; 
the rabbits came there and dug their holes, the wind blew 
9 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


130 

in there, and forced its onward way incessantly ; the sea struck 
against the loose ground, and the sand bank fell and was en- 
gulphed by the ocean. 

This intimacy with nature, the evening readings, which 
were always sound and entertaining, the novels of Walter 
Scott, which, to Elizabeth, were embodied realities, filled her 
mind, as the sunlight fills the plant, and gave a freshness and 
expansion to her thoughts. “ The Heart of Mid-Lothian ” 
was the one which above all others addressed itself to her 
feelings ; in it she found her heroine, her ideal^ and that was 
Jeannie Deans.” The journey from Edinburgh to London 
often filled and occupied her mind ; she was far more at home 
in the scenes and manners of Scotland, than in the land she 
herself belonged to. 

Of late years a great intimacy had sprung up between the 
world and the inhabitants of the islands here. The bathing 
guests who frequented the little town of Wieck, on Fohr, situ- 
ated only four miles’ distance from the Halligers, had in- 
creased considerably in number. The bathing establishment 
founded here in 1819 was greatly enlarged, as visitors came 
not only from Slesvig and Holstein, but also from the interior 
of Germany. A sort of hotel, conducted by a person from 
Hamburg, was established here, and here a band of itinerant 
German musicians performed every Sunday. When the wind 
blew in the direction of Gland they could hear from thence, 
quite distinctly, what was played, and the music thus borne 
over the water sounded sweetly. They could see, too, through 
the Commander’s excellent telescope, the lengthened row of 
promenaders in the long avenue of young trees along the sea- 
side, and in the dark evenings it was a pleasure to see the 
rockets mounting in the air, or to view a slight display of fire- 
works. Some of the strangers came regularly on a visit to 
Gland ; some of them were recommended to the Commander’s 
or to the Parson’s. When the bathing season ended — in 
September — every one returned to his home, and once more 
the still monotonous life began. 

Amongst those who had been recommended to Moritz was 
a Scotchman named Knox, who stated himself to be a de- 
scendant of the family of Scotland’s reformer, whose name ha 


A FEW YEARS. 


I3I 

bore. He had in his youth travelled through the whole of 
Europe, but of late years it was Germany, Holland, and the 
Scandinavian north that had especially interested him ; the re- 
lationship between these nations and their family ties were his 
study ; he expressed himself clearly and thoughtfully on these 
subjects, and was, besides, the most excellent living commen- 
tary on the novels of Walter Scott. As a boy he had trav- 
elled over that, his native country, which the poet has cele- 
brated as the — 

“ Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the flood ! ” 

His family residence was in Kilburn, and therefore not far 
from Abbotsford, where he had often visited the great poet, of 
whom he gave many characteristic traits. He knew, too, 
Scott’s faithful dog Maida so well, had passed many evenings 
in the family circle, and had carried Scott’s grandchild in his 
arms — Lockhart’s sweet child, the ennobled image of Walter 
Scott. All these narratives, explanations, and traits, arising 
out of these novels, now presented themselves still more viv- 
idly to Elizabeth, so that in the living reality of the moment, 
the whole received such a romantic lustre, such a charm, as 
made her life appear one of entire happiness. 

The personal character of Moritz and his sister pleased the 
Scotchman ; their purely religious manners, which naturally 
disclosed themselves even in the customs and diurnal duties 
of the house, accorded with the Scotchman’s education ; at the 
Parson’s or the Halligers, he likewise found the usages of his 
home ; here grace was said at table before the family sat 
down to their meals ; here Sunday was observed with quiet 
holiness, the evening hours were passed in devotion. There 
was no eifort at display, no attempt at effect ; everything 
sprang from the natural feeling, and a tranquil mind. 

It was the second summer that Knox had visited Fohr : 
one day he brought with him a new guest to the Halligers. 
He was a Dane, who, however, had not been in Denmark for 
many years, but, on the contrary, in Paris, where he had 
caused much sensation by his musical compositions. The 
newspapers foretold that he would open a career for himself ; 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


132 

that never before had tones such as those he produced be- 
come living words. He, however, had always been called a 
Swede in the papers, because Sweden was that land in the 
north which the French knew best, for there one of their 
generals, one of Napoleon’s marshals, Bernadotte, had become 
king. 

The Dane, who, at that moment, was the lion of the bath- 
ing season, — for what does not a name do when French re- 
nown is attached to it ? — was a slenderly built man, between 
thirty and forty years of age. There was a strange movement 
in his face, a mixture of good nature and pride, which vibrated 
about the mouth in particular. Perhaps, from the fine fea- 
tures around it, more than from the eye itself, a physiognomist 
would have tried to discover his character. His talk had a 
good deal of the liveliness of the Frenchman, with no small 
share of his vivacity of expression. He intended to return to 
Paris again, after the bathing season, but would first pay a 
few short visits in Denmark. 

He appeared to know most of the families of the nobility, 
and was well acquainted with both summer and winter life in 
the north, and praised much of it ; but he mixed a great deal 
of irony with his praise, nay, even bitterness at times. It was 
his matchless skill on the piano — in particular, his perform- 
ance with one hand — that had bound the Scotchman to him. 
It was this wonderfully clever performance that the former 
wished Moritz and Hedevig to hear ; for there was, as w'e 
know, a good piano at the parsonage. Elizabeth sang to its 
accompaniment all the songs which Caroline had sung — 
Sohnbarth’s splendid compositions to Goethe’s poems. 

Knox had, a few days previously, mentioned this new guest, 
in a letter to Moritz, and he now stood in the parlor at 
the parsonage, where he was received in the most cordial 
manner. 

Moritz started on seeing the face of the new-comer. His 
person — there was something in it that appeared as if almost 
familiar to him ; they must have seen each other before, and 
not transiently j there must be some remembrances bound up 
with their meeting. 

“ We are scarcely strangers to each other,” said Moritz ; “ I 


APPEARANCE OF AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 1 33 

must have known you before, but where I cannot remember at 
this moment : where can I have enjoyed the honor of being 
in your company ? ” 

“ Perhaps in Paris,” he replied, “ or in Denmark ; I passed 
my whole youth there, though it was not my happiest time. 
However, I found my advantage in it” 

Hedevig was requested by her brother to assist him in rec- 
ollecting where it was that he had known the stranger, but 
she could not ; and it was quite certain that she saw him for 
the first time. They conversed, promenaded, and were shown 
about ; they had seen the church, visited the old church -yard, 
been at the Commander’s house, and taken dinner. The 
Dane was so entertaining ; he related a hundred little anec- 
dotes, which sparkled like rockets, and illumined the conver- 
sation. The library was seen, and so was the music-shelf, but 
the latter looked rather bare. 

“ Weyse ! ” he exclaimed ; “ my dear, excellent Weyse ! 
Denmark has in him a clever and national composer, greater 
than she knows. No one has heard of him abroad, and 
at home it is only real musicians who are aware of his value.” 

It was Weyse’s music to “ Macbeth ” that lay on the shelf, 
and which he had taken up, that called forth this deserved 
eulogium. 

“ That has, however, been generally appreciated,” said Mo- 
ritz ; “ what beautiful chamber-music there is in it ! — the 
watchman’s song, and the scene with the witches.” 

“ I value and admire Weyse,” he answered ; “ and I think I 
dare call myself his most zealous admirer ; yet, in this com- 
position I am, perhaps, on account of my musical peculiarity, 
of a different opinion to my countrymen — ay, even the most 
able musicians. I demand from him something else than 
what he has given us. I miss here just what Weyse knew so 
well how' to impress on his compositions — the characteristic. 
The chamber-music in Macbeth’s castle is, I will acknowledge, 
even to be genial, but it is not characteristic of the time and 
place. Such a piece of music does not carry us to Macbeth’s 
castle in Inverness-shire. Old Scotch ballads, or songs like 
these, should be heard ; those instruments must predominate 
which lead us to think of the bagpipes. The witches’ scene 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


134 

in music I can only imagine, from music depicting the situa- 
tion. I would give the hideous and the unearthly, the myste- 
rious, the night-storm on the heath ; and the singing voices of 
the witches I would confine to a monotonous song that should 
only change with the sinking and rising of the voice.” 

On Hedevig’s stating that the chamber music sounded, at 
least to her, like real Scotch, he sat down to the piano, saying : 

“ I cannot, however, play it, for ten fingers are wanted, and 
I have, properly speaking, only as good as five ! ” And he 
showed them his stiff hand. “ This is a remembrance of a 
forest drive in Denmark.” 

Then with his sound hand he played with such expression, 
and with such consummate mastery of the instrument, that 
one would really have thought he had four hands. There 
was a life, a soul, in that delicately formed face : his eyes 
shone, his lips quivered, and it was then clear to Moritz where 
he had seen him, and who he was. And yet, how was it pos- 
sible? He whom Moritz remembered was poor, neglected, 
treated with rudeness ; and this was a celebrated man, whose 
name resounded from France with a thrill through the world 
of art. 

“ I saw you in Funen, many years ago,” said Moritz. 

“ It is possible,” he replied : “ it was certainly at my old 
friend’s, the Baroness’s. In the bird-cage, as they so wittily 
call the manor, for where are they so witty as in my dear 
country ? ” 

“ No, it was at the estate where one of my old pupils re- 
sides, Count Frederick’s.” 

“There,” said the stranger, and the blood mounted for a 
moment to his cheeks ; “it is probable, for I have often been 
there for several weeks together.” 

“ And you are, or were at that time, a Gentleman of the 
Bed-chamber,” said Moritz. 

“ I am that person,” he answered j “ and I have not ad- 
vanced in title since then. Then you certainly know the old 
Baroness at the adjoining estate ? An excellent woman she 
is, notwithstanding all her strange ways. I am as fond of 
her as if she were my mother ; and this I tell you beforehand, 
that next to Providence I owe to her that which I now am — 


APPEARANCE OF AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I 35 

to her I owe my independent situation, and the maturity of 
my talent.” 

Moritz reminded him of the evening at the Count’s when 
they got — he still remembered the expression — “a musical 
lecture.” 

“You extemporized one of the ancient ballads for us on the 
piano,” he added ; “ the present Countess had just then come 
with her mother on a visit, and was charmed with your play- 
ing.” 

“ Clara ! ” exclaimed the Gentleman, — for we must let him 
retain this appellation ; “ Clara ! how handsome she was ! she 
also paid me compliments, such as I was at that time unac- 
customed to hear : she was delighted, but yet she preferred 
my playing dances.” 

“ We were all delighted to hear you ! ” 

“‘Only nothing of your own, if we may beg,’ was Count 
Frederick’s request. O, I remember that evening so well — 
there are certain moments in our lives that we retain in mem- 
ory whilst whole months are forgotten, and are never brought 
again to mind.” 

“ That is surely not the result of that unfortunate upsetting 
of the carriage,” said Moritz, as he pointed to the Gentle- 
man’s stiff hand. 

“Yes, I got that because the young gentleman had not 
learned to drive, and yet he would handle the reins : but I 
must not complain of that event, for it has been to my advan- 
tage, not to my injury. With two sound hands I might, per- 
haps, have become a clever pianist, and continued in straitened 
circumstances, to be maitre de plaisir for some vulgar persons 
to whom birth and fortune had given this world’s favors ; but 
as my hand became stiff and useless for playing the piano, 
other talents had to be developed, and, thank God, I had some 
left, — for instance, my talent as a composer. My misfortune, 
or, if you choose, my accident, and the manner in which it 
happened, came to the ears of the old Baroness: she had 
twice before heard me play, and was pleased with my skill, 
and her compassion was now awakened. Some few injurious 
mortifications, — I may venture to say undeserved on my 
part, but which I suffered from the haughty Count Fred- 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


136 

erick, — induced her to become my protectress, and strangely 
clever she showed herself to be. I am not ashamed to confess 
that she supported me in Paris, and she, like a mother, spent 
large sums of money on me. At first it was but a notion of 
hers, a willful determination that she would carry through. 
They laughed at her as they have laughed at her best actions ; 
but at last she became fond of me, and understood that talent 
which God has given me, so that she held still faster to her 
will ; and I am glad that she has derived some honor from her 
patronage of me.” 

Elizabeth listened with astonishment ; and now she remem- 
bered the pale musical man who, with one arm bandaged and 
in a sling, had been for a short time at the manor-house, and 
had played with one hand — he was so still and sorrowful. 
But how very differently did he appear here ! free, conscious 
of his own abilities, and lively in conversation ; never be- 
fore had she heard any one speak with such cordiality and 
warmth about the old lady as he now spoke of her. 

“ I always thought that there was something particularly 
good in the old Baroness,” said Moritz. “ I have known her 
myself — nay, I once had a sort of correspondence with her ; 
she is, however, very singular in many things, and one cannot 
in truth blame the world for forming the estimate of her which 
it does.” 

“ The Gentleman ” spoke about her life in childhood, which 
we know ; about her father, “ long Rasmus,” who rode on the 
wooden horse in the court-yard, where she now, as an old 
woman, lived, and was the mistress ; he knew, too, how, under 
the circumstances she grew up in, and was subjected to, she 
must have become the singular character she was ; that in her 
ill-regulated individuality there lay the best and noblest ele- 
ments ; but that the world now only spoke of, and expatiated 
upon her oddities, and what would raise a laugh against 
her. 

“ I do not wish to subvert your faith in your essentially gen- 
erous and correct conception of the old lady’s character,” said 
Moritz ; “ but in some few instances I cannot, nor will you be 
able to excuse her unreasonable conduct. For example,” and 
he pointed to Elizabeth, “ this child was her avowed favorite ; 


APPEARANCE OF AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 1 37 

but for an act which a child of her age would at most deserve 
a flogging for having committed, she cast her out into the 
wide world. It is true she did not allow her to starve, but 
she dismissed her, without caring into whose hands she fell, or 
what might become of her. She has never even once asked 
about her since. And then, there is her own flesh and blood, 
her own grandson, whom she would never see, and whom she 
allows to go about in the world like one that is an entire 
stranger to her.” 

“ It is unjust ! ” answered the Gentleman : “ in this case 
she cannot be excused, but her personal character may ex- 
plain and qualify her manner of acting : with respect to her 
grandson, who is said to be an excellent young man, the Bar- 
oness has a motive, perhaps it is a fixed idea, as to her rela- 
tionship to him. I know it, but have no right to divulge it, 
even in her defense, or even to explain her actions, but in this 
unfortunate idea lies the whole mystery of her conduct. He 
has lived many years in Italy.” 

“ I have only heard from him twice during several years,” 
answered Moritz ; “ the first time was directly after his ar- 
rival there, when he devoted himself, heart and soul, to the 
profession of a painter ; the second time he wrote, — it was a 
year afterwards, — he had laid the palette aside and turned 
sculptor. 

“ Now, I believe, he is neither of the two, at least, if he be, 
he carries on his profession very privately ; I however know 
very little about him.” 

During the course of conversation concerning friends and 
acquaintances in Funen, it appeared that it was the Gentleman 
who was best informed of the state of matters. Baron Hol- 
ger had been in Paris the previous winter, and during a visit 
one day he had assured him that when in Denmark he had 
regarded Paul de Kock’s novels as the first in the world, but 
that in Paris he had found that to enact his scenes in real life 
was, strictly speaking, the greatest exploit. At the same time 
he reproached himself for his volatility, and excused himself 
by saying, that if he had got Clara for his wife he would have 
been a pattern for husbands ; but as Heaven paid no regard to 
virtuous wishes, so he had no obligations towards Heaven. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


138 

As to Count Frederick, he had succeeded to the estate on the 
death of his father, and was an aristocrat of the haughtiest 
stamp. The winter months he passed in Copenhagen, where 
all the great and fashionable were invited to his house — 
princes and diplomatists, yet artists also, because Clara was a 
patroness of the fine arts. She painted, and wrote beautiful 
small poems, as it was said, and had not only herself given, 
but had also collected and forced persons to contribute money 
towards the erection of Thorvaldsen’s Museum. 

This was about the result of the Gentleman’s first visit to 
the Halligers ; on a renewed visit, his interest for Elizabeth 
was particularly awakened ; he was made acquainted with her 
whole history, and discovered in her great musical talents, 
and a voice of surprisingly sweet expression ; but it awakened 
no little surprise in the quiet, pious parsonage, when he pro- 
posed to them to let her voice be cultivated and perfected for 
the opera ; and on that occasion he set forth a Grisi’s and 
Albertazzi’s merits, honor, and riches. Moritz smiled and 
shook his head, and said how dear his foster-daughter was to 
him — that it would be painful to him to be separated from 
her, even if it were only as far as Copenhagen to Heimerant. 

That worthy old man, in one of his last letters, had just pro- 
posed that Elizabeth should pass a winter in Copenhagen with 
him, there to see a little more of the world, and receive that 
beneficial influence which a large city can always impart to a 
young girl. This, however, he could not permit until after her 
confirmation, and to that time there was still a year and a 
half wanting. 

At the end of the bathing season, in September, the Gen- 
tleman and the Scotchman left Fohr, but we shall afterwards 
meet them in another place. Now we must hasten towards 
an event which, like a thunder-clap from a clear sky, awak- 
ened the terror of the Commander’s and clergyman’s families, 
and became a point of transition in Elizabeth’s life. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


DESPAIR. — HELP FROM THE “HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.” 

B etween Ellmar’s departure and his return home only 
a few months were to intervene, but we know that these 
sometimes seem to be years. The Commander had made an 
arrangement that Elimar should acquire a good theoretical 
knowledge as a seaman in Holland, where he would be 
amongst friends and acquaintances, and in a good house ; 
thus the first winter passed, and he appeared to be cheerful 
and satisfied. Elizabeth heard the letters read, and always 
had a greeting from him. She knew all the rare and splendid 
things he saw, the large palaces and churches, the deep canals 
in the streets, where large vessels lie directly under tall trees ; 
she knew that the high-roads throughout the whole country 
were paved like the stone floors in the Marsk dairies. O, how 
one could drive on them without being upset, as on the Slesvig 
dikes ! Elimar, too, had been to the theatre, where they per- 
formed whole stories with song and music, and he and all who 
saw them sat there with long pipes in their mouths, and puffed 
away, so that there was a dense cloud of smoke in the house ; 
but the play went on charmingly, and they drank tea and read 
the newspapers. And in the course of the winter, when the 
canals and seas were frozen, and bright as a mirror, they 
lighted pitch garlands there ; torches burnt, and whole crowds 
of men and women, all dressed for the season, and all on 
skates, a complete masquerade, darted over the ice, and some 
carried torches, which they swung about and struck against 
the bright ice, which shone again : that had been a still finer 
comedy than the one in the theatre where they drank tea and 
smoked tobacco. 

Elimar was inexpressibly happy in Holland, and liked the 
country and the people ; a year afterwards he went to sea, 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


140 

and in the autumn returned to Haarlem, where the organ in 
the church was the largest to be found in all the countries of 
the world, and sounded as if a hundred musicians sat at it ; 
and then how the tulips bloomed with colors, such as were not 
to be found in Madame Leyson’s bridal gown, which, how- 
ever, shone brighter than any other gown on the Halligers. 
Now and then there certainly came a stray complaint about 
“ the Scapegrace,” as the Commander called Elimar, but only 
once was there real cause for a serious reprimand, and this 
was touching Elimar’s indomitable impetuosity, which might 
one time or another easily bring him into trouble, as the letter 
said. At the beginning of the third year, however, he went 
as second mate on board a large vessel to North America. 
He did not come home on a visit before his departure, as had 
been previously determined, but in his greeting to Elizabeth 
he called her — and that was for the first time in writing — 
“my little sweetheart.” 

He sent her a couple of amusing dolls, from a fishing vil- 
lage near the Hague : they were man and wife, made of small 
shells gathered on the beach, and put together, so that they 
showed the whole costume and appearance of the fishermen 
and their wives at that place. 

But Elimar did not come to the Halligers the next autumn, 
nor yet the following one ; he was continually absent on long 
voyages ; and America was always the country they were 
bound to. 

If Elimar had returned, and remained on the Halligers for 
a longer time in Elizabeth’s society, perhaps that halo which 
now encompassed him in her thoughts would have been dis- 
persed ; perhaps that precocious girl would have seen him 
otherwise than her imagination now pictured him. 

Her mind had developed itself in a remarkable degree dur- 
ing the last few years, and with respect to her physical growth, 
that also was forward for her age ; one might almost have 
supposed she was sixteen, and yet she was but fourteen years 
of age. 

Her confirmation was fixed for the coming spring ; but she 
fell ill at Christmas with a form of the typhus fever ; Moritz 
himself sat up and watched by her bed for a couple of nights ; 


DESPAIR. 


I4I 

and during that time it was to him as if he again underwent 
those sorrowful hours by the sick-bed of his deceased Caro- 
line. 

Elizabeth, however, recovered, though but slowly ; and 
whilst that weak body lay helpless, the spirit had raised itself 
wondrously towards God, and now returned as with greater 
strength and expansion. The body vibrated under the full- 
ness of a nervous enthusiasm and zeal that were almost 
alarming. She could not bear any kind of exertion ; they 
durst not let her read ; her confirmation was put off until the 
autumn ; and secretly this pleased Elizabeth, for just at that 
time they expected Elimar. 

The confirmation Sunday came ; the little church was orna- 
mented with long ribbons, on which hung variegated flowers 
of paper ; Madame Leyson herself had clipped them all, and 
they now hung in garlands around the choir. The lights 
burnt on the altar, and the song of the congregation arose 
melodiously to the vaulted roof. Moritz, who was deeply 
moved, spoke of the wonderful vicissitudes of life, of its short- 
ness, uncertainty, and sorrows ; and in the peculiar manner 
he had of making himself understood by his congregation, he 
spoke to them words of consolation ; and of these words one 
image seized on and filled Elizabeth’s thoughts, and fixed 
itself firmly in them forever. 

“ In the British navy,” said Moritz, “ there is a red thread 
that goes through all the cordage, great and small, which 
shows that it belongs to the crown, and there is an invisible 
thread that goes through every person’s life, which shows that 
we belong to God ! ” And Elizabeth felt the truth of what he 
said, by reflecting on her past life : her eyes shone with a kind 
of exultation; the blood mounted to her cheeks ; she thought 
of her deserted situation as an infant in her dying mother’s 
arms. Trina had once told her about it, Moritz never. She 
remembered vividly the scene with the old Baroness, who 
thrust her out of the mysterious chamber ; she remembered 
those dreadful moments when she stood with Elimar in the 
rising sea, near Amrom. She felt that God had kindly and 
graciously protected her, and with all the heartfelt devotion of 
a child she clung, in thought, to Him, the Eternally Almighty 
Father and Friend. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


142 

It was a happy festival in Elizabeth’s home that evening. 
All who had been confirmed with her, five in number, the 
children of poor fishermen, were, with their parents, invited to 
the clergyman’s. The Commander and his wife and friends 
from Fohr and Amrom also came. 

“ O, if Elimar were but here too ! ” said Madame Leyson, 

“ that dear sweet lad ! but there is always something wanting 
to complete our happiness ! but wait only until he comes, then 
I will give a grand party, and then see how you shall dance ! 

0 my God ! I now remember you have not learnt to 
dance ” — she suddenly stopped. “ It was stupid of me to 
speak to you about dancing on such a holy day as this ! The 
Lord surely will not punish me for it ! I am in fact so glad, 
so happy ! and perhaps it may not be eight days longer before 

1 am still happier ! the happiest old Grandmother ” — and 
tears stood in her eyes. 

On the following Sunday, Elizabeth was to have gone to 
Communion for the first time, but between that day and the 
one we are now speaking of — the taking of the vow and re- 
ceiving the Sacrament — there interposed a dark cloud ; the 
heaviest day during many years for the Commander’s family 
and those persons who had attached themselves to them by 
ties of friendship and affection. 

On the Friday morning a letter came to the Commander’s 
from Fohr. How much sunshine, and how much joy may not 
lie in a letter ; but also how much darkness and sorrow ! If 
this news had come, that “ Elimar was dead,” it would cer- 
tainly, for a moment, have weighed down the old couple with 
sorrow, as heavily as the blow which now fell on them ; but 
this struck so deep a wound that it must bleed during their 
whole lives ; there was a despair, a dread, in the midst of 
which thought became, as it were, paralyzed. ^Vhen a dear 
wife or beloved child dies unexpectedly, then the husband and 
father, during the first few nights after the death, can awaken 
from a sleep that the body required, and in awakening forget 
for a while the great loss he has suffered, the depressing mis- 
fortune that has fallen upon him ; but anon there .supervenes 
a dread, a fear in his blood and thoughts, and he asks himself 
What has happened ? and that which has happened appears 


DESPAIR. 


143 

before him in all its terrible reality — it is the harrowing re- 
turn from the world of dreams to reality. And in such a state 
of mind as this were the old couple. 

“What is it? Is there possibility in it?” Yes, they 
must themselves acknowledge that there is : it was stated in 
that letter, it was within the bounds of probability ; and now 
dark images obtruded themselves in connection with the re- 
membrance of Elimar, with recollections of what people had 
called his evil mired — that which the old couple could not 
bring themselves to believe. 

Elimar had returned to Copenhagen, but how ? in fetters. 
The ship in which he had been mate, had stranded on the 
coast of America, and he had been obliged to take service in 
another vessel, the “ Susanna,” and there, in a dispute, had 
killed the mate. He lay in prison in Copenhagen, and as he 
possessed no papers, — for they were lost with the wrecked 
ship, — the police had written to the principal judicial author- 
ity on Fbhr, in order to obtain all particulars relative to Eli- 
mar; from this person a letter had come to Moritz, requesting 
him to prepare the Commander’s family in the best manner 
for their great misfortune, and to tell them how matters 
stood. 

“ No, no,” said the old woman, “he cannot have done it — 
and yet his wild temper ! — O that the Lord had closed our 
eyes before we heard this ! No, no, it would not have saved 
or helped him ! and who can feel for him as we do ! He is 
so young, there is so much that is good in him ! ” — and in 
her thoughts she recalled every trait, every smile, that she had 
rejoiced over, and it became so rich a sum that it must have 
purchased the freedom of the greatest criminal. 

The Commander wrote to his son, the town magistrate of 
Husum, to do all in his power for Elimar. 

“ Life for life,” says the law ; and the old man sat in deep 
thought and murmured to himself, “ My blood will flow under 
the axe of the executioner, and if he should even be spared 
his life, what is life in eternal imprisonment, in constant inter- 
course with wretched felons ! — and the poor old man wan- 
dered about in disquiet, from his home to Moritz’s, and again 
home, again to wander forth. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


144 

Madame Leyson sat in a corner and wept ; she looked at 
the portrait of their grandmother Osa. 

“ Yes, yes,” she exclaimed, “ had she but lived, or had I 
her strength, I would go to Copenhagen to save him ! ” 

Elizabeth also stood there, crying, with her heart still full 
of love for Eli mar. 

And what had Osa done ? Was her history really so af- 
fecting ? 

“ Elimar resembles his forefather,” said the old woman ; 
“ it is Frisian blood that is in him. His forefather would 
also fly out in a passion, and like the sea, rage fearfully in his 
wrath ; but yet, like the sea, he was deep and clear. He 
killed another Frisian ; he also shed blood ; ” and the old 
woman wept, and then began again, — “ He was then filled 
with remorse at the deed ! O, what must not Elimar suffer ! 
My forefather fled from house and home ; his wife, Osa, she 
whose portrait hangs there ! ” — and she pointed to the likeness, 
where she had been drawn with the sheepskin cloak and silver 
cap, — “she had to pay compensation for manslaughter; that 
was the law in those times ; and she had to sell her house and 
clothes, and provide for herself and children, and she did it, 
for she could do it. She spun wool, night and day, and gained 
bread for herself and her family ; and years passed away, and 
her husband and his deed were forgotten. No one was more 
respected than Osa : her conduct was truly Christian-like, her 
industry and care for her children unexampled ; she was truly 
a pattern for all ; a pattern of good morals. But then in time 
it was seen that she, whom all respected and honored, she, 
the lonely woman, was again about to become a mother, and 
they now began to watch and lurk around her dwelling. 
They watched her with evil eyes, and it was discovered that 
she went regularly every week to a solitary dell in the dikes, 
to a place that was reputed haunted, where a bloody hand of- 
ten appeared above the sand, and where dreadful bowlings 
were heard. There it was, then, that she had her rendezvous, 
she, the godly, honest Osa ; yes, there her lover must be con- 
cealed, and they found him there, in a great sand-pit. It was 
her husband, who, during all the years they had thought he 
was far thence, had lived in this spot, where she had visited 


DESPAIR, 145 

him every week, brought him provisions, comforted him, and 
supported him in his trouble. 

“ His long penance, and her fidelity, brought the judges, and 
even his enemies, to grant him a pardon, and they afterwards 
prospered well, lived happily, and became rich, honored, and 
honorable ; but such things will never happen more ! O 
my poor Elimar! ” 

“ Elimar would likewise become happy and good,” said 
Elizabeth ; “ is there then no one on earth who can save him 
— no one ? ” 

“ Yes, the King,” said Madame Leyson. “ The King is 
above the laws, and he knows my husband, the Commander. 
King Frederick VI. has the kindest heart ! ” 

“ Let us pray to him — let us not cease our petition until 
Elimar is at liberty. We can write at all events, and the 
King hears all ; the Commander will surely go to Copenha- 
gen.” 

“ No, no ! ” interrupted Madame Leyson ; he says that 
the law must take its course — and to suffer as I do ! He 
will not go there — will not write, except to our son, the town 
magistrate, and he also is a man who obeys the laws. But I 
will write ; as the grandmother of the unfortunate I will ap- 
peal to my King’s warm heart, and plead for the misled one, 
who may yet be saved.” 

“ But my old man will not allow the letter to be sent,” said 
she after a short pause, and bethought herself ; you must get 
it conveyed for me over to Fohr, or else I shall not get it 
sent off. And you I can depend on; you are careful and 
silent ; not even at home must you speak about it.” 

The old woman trembled. 

‘‘ I will write in my anguish ; the Lord will guide my pen, 
and He will direct everything for the best.” 

She then wrote, and then tore in pieces what she had writ- 
ten, and wrote again ; at length the petition was ready. Par- 
ticular expressions in it might well have caused a stranger to 
smile ; yet on the whole it might perforce have called forth 
more tears than smiles. The petition was, like him it prayed 
for, brought forth in pain and dread. 

On the Sunday there was to be communion : Elizabeth was 
ro 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


146 

to go over to Fohr the day before to make some purchases ,* 
she was accompanied by Keike, and they went across in a 
fishing boat Madame Leyson had secretly given her the let- 
ter she had written to the King, in all simplicity and loyal 
affection ; she had also one from the Commander to the chief 
judicial authority on Fohr ; and whilst Keike visited a rela- 
tion, she went to deliver the letters. 

Elizabeth stopped in one of those narrow lanes between the 
sea and the backs of houses, took Madame Leyson’s letter 
from her bosom, where she had placed it, and read the ad- 
dress : “To the mighty Monarch, the land’s father, King 
Frederick VL, Copenhagen.” 

These words of themselves gave the letter an importance, a 
sacredness ; she fancied that she saw therein a part of maj- 
es,ty itself. Now, she thought, if the postmaster asks from 
whom the letter comes, he will not perhaps receive a letter 
for the King. This thought made her tremble ; she ap- 
proached the house — went past it ; what should she do ? In- 
voluntarily she approached nearer to it ; a small book-case 
hung outside, for it was also a circulating library ; several 
books lay there with the title-pages disclosed, and the first she 
accidentally saw was, “ The Heart of Mid- Lothian,” by Walter 
Scott. 

An idea came into her mind by being thus accidentally 
brought to think of Jeannie Deans. She stood still for a mo- 
ment — her resolution was formed — she turned round — 
placed the letter in security on her person — went to look 
for Keike, and after every errand was executed, they again 
entered the boat, and reached Oland. 

The agitation of Elizabeth was partly attributed to her 
grief for Elimar, partly to her nervous constitution and expec- 
tation of the holy act of which she should next day be a par- 
taker. Madame Leyson looked at her with an inquiring look, 
as if to say, “ Is the letter delivered ? ” and Elizabeth nodded, 
whilst the paper burnt in her bosom. 

Elizabeth told them at home, in the evening, that Madame 
Leyson had first thought of going to Copenhagen, where she 
had never been, but that she had afterwards given up the in- 
tention. It would have been too toilsome a voyage for her to 


HELP FROM « THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIANP 1 47 

undertake ; and Elizabeth inquired about the way, and how 
long it was, and how it was to be accomplished. Speaking 
about this appeared to interest and divert her thoughts, and 
therefore Hedevig continued to answer her, and give her par- 
ticulars. 

“ It would have been an impossibility at that bad season of 
the year,” said she ; “ and the old woman would have been 
obliged to pass over the islands, unless there had chanced to 
be a vessel from Flensborg. 

It was Sunday morning, and the day of communion. Eliz- 
abeth looked at the portraits of the King and Queen, and 
her eyes filled with tears. Alas ! she felt most courage to 
speak with the Queen, but it was to the King that the 
letter was addressed ; it was the King who was above 
the laws. Elizabeth’s determination was fixed ; as Jeannie 
Deans went from Edinburgh to London, she would also go 
from Fohr to Copenhagen ; go to the King, deliver the let- 
ter to him, and plead for Elimar in the perfect fullness of 
her heart. There was nothing overstrained in her course of 
thought, and the determination to which it led ; and we shall 
understand this, when we remember how entirely she lived in 
the realm of illusion — how she knew the world only through 
the medium of books. Walter Scott’s novels were declared 
to be reality itself — historically true ; she would be able to do 
what, it was there related, had been done before. This was 
a kind of simplicity united with the warmest confidence in the 
Almighty ; and yet what a combat had she not with herself ! 
To go to Copenhagen or to remain, that was no longer the 
question here, or if* she should previously tell her design to 
Moritz or Hedevig ; she feared that they would not permit 
her. And what fear and anxiety would not her absence 
create in their minds ! It was a sin, an injustice ! Yet the 
letter, which she had retained, burnt on her bosom ; O ! if 
she only durst confide in Keike — once she had nearly done 
so, but yet she did not. The tears gushed from her eyes ; 
they eased her mind, and her emotion in no way surprised 
the rest, as they all knew how fondly she was attached to 
Elimar. 

The ferry-boat to Dagebol always starts with the tide, which 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


148 

would, next morning, serve at three o’clock j consequently, at 
a time when every one, not going with it, would be sound 
asleep. Elizabeth could not rest ; she went several times to 
the window ; the air was clear, and Charles’s wain still shone. 
This constellation is regarded by the islanders here as the 
car in which Elias the prophet ascended to heaven ; and it 
came into her mind what Moritz had said about the prophet, 
that for other persons life was also often a glowing car, on 
which the way led to heavenly peace. She had already felt 
how life could glow ; she felt that seriousness which disclosed 
itself behind the years of childhood, but she also remembered 
the invisible thread which showed that v/e belong to God ; 
and there came consolation to her soul. 

She had written a few words, which she would leave in 
her chamber \ and, with suppressed sobs, she read her own 
writing : — 

“ May the Lord our God assist me, and let us meet again 
happily ! Believe nothing bad of 

‘‘Your affectionate Elizabeth.” 

At half-past two she stood ready, with her little bundle in 
her hand, and with all her money from her savings’ box, 
which amounted to about ten shillings. She had WTapped 
her gold rings up in paper, and taken them also, as she could 
sell them in case of need ; and she now thought herself rich 
enough for the journey. She knelt down once more, prayed 
to the Lord, and then hastened out of the house, where all 
were still asleep, and down to the boat. 

“ Is Miss going with us, and alone, too ? ” asked Jap Lidt 
Fetters. 

“Yes, to Dagebol,” she replied. “Take me with you, 
Jap ; but,” added she, as with a perception that he might sus- 
pect she was going out into the wide world, “ I must return 
with you in the afternoon. So don’t forget me. I shall re- 
member the time well enough myself ; but you must by all 
means let me return with you.” 

There was an anxiety in the expression with which she said 
this which caused Jap to laugh. 


HELP FROM “ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAAP 149 

“ Yes, it is bad enough on land for a young lady,” said 
he, smiling ; “they run away with them when they are 
pretty.” 

The wind was fair, the sails were hoisted, and the boat 
darted away from Oland towards Dagebol. 

Elizabeth looked towards heaven, and repeated the Lord’s 
prayer ; He above was now her only guide and supporter. 

They arrived at Dagebol in less than an hour, so that it was 
still quite dark. 

“ There is the inn — there, where the light is burning,” said 
Jap ; “ can you find the way alone ? ” 

“ Yes, I think so,” answered Elizabeth ; “farewell, Jap, till 
we see each other again.” And she went in the direction he 
had pointed out, but soon turned off over the dikes, where, 
eight years before, she had been driven away in Mr. Petters’s 
wagon, and had come back again with the eel-man ; she knew 
every turning she had to take in order to get to Flensborg, 
and followed the right road. 

It was just at the same season of the year as when she had 
been here for the first time with Moritz and Hedevig ; every- 
thing was unchanged : the rain had made the meadows below 
like great lakes ; the dikes were almost impassable ; she lost 
her shoes two or three times', found them again, and walked 
forward without delay on her bare feet. The wind blew 
stronger and stronger, and before the sun rose it had be- 
come a perfect storm. O, how slowly could she proceed ! 
She stood still a few times, and was not able to go further : 
she then folded her hands and lifted them towards heaven, 
and it so happened that the gusts of wind came less fre- 
quently. She had the wind now at her back, and it helped 
her forward. Now some large drops of rain fell ; then came 
a drenching shower, which passed over, as the storm drove it 
onward ; thus the forenoon wore away, and towards noon 
Elizabeth was so fatigued, and the roads and weather were so 
bad, that she was obliged to remain at the inn which lies be- 
tween the Marsk and Geestland. 

“ I am going to Flensborg,” said she at the inn, and that 
was enough. There were many guests, but no one took any 
notice of her ; they were all obliged to stay ; it was such 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


150 

dreadful weather, with rain and storm, and much damage 
must have been done at sea. 

Elizabeth got a bed for the night here, only a few miles from 
home, and they must have missed her long already, and read 
her letter ; but in this weather she knew that no one could 
come to Dagebol, and Jap Lidt Fetters could scarcely have 
been able to return to Oland. 

Tired and weary, she threw herself on the bed, and slept 
until it was broad daylight. She started up quite frightened ; 
the air was clear, but the wind still blew strong, so that the 
sea must be in a terrible ferment, and she thought that she 
could hear it roar. The way was closed against her, even if 
she desired to return, but that she would not — she could not 
do. It was now clear sunshine, and she went forward, almost 
borne on by the wind ; the roads, however, were heavy and 
wearying, and it was late in the afternoon before she reached 
the bank whence one sees Flensborg beneath. 

Taken by surprise, she stood still on beholding this pros- 
pect ; she saw the great town, the fiord, and the wood-grown 
banks ! How many trees ! She had not seen such a sight for 
many years : leaf-covered trees were to her like fantastic im- 
ages from her childhood’s dawning remembrance. 

She fell on her knees and prayed to the Almighty : “ O, 
give me help, Thou, my only help ! ” The sun shone so en- 
livening on the whole of the high and picturesque coast on 
the opposite side of the fiord that it was a delight to behold. 
While she knelt here an elderly female and a younger, cer- 
tainly her daughter, came up. They were passing close by 
Elizabeth, and looked her in the face ; and as they saw that 
she wept, stopped for a moment, bade her good-day, and 
walked on. Elizabeth, who thought that she saw a familiar 
face, sprang up, walked involuntarily some paces after them, 
and the woman stopped. Elizabeth inquired of her the way 
to Copenhagen. 

“ Copenhagen ! ” repeated the woman ; “ well, there are 
many ways to it, both by sea and by land. Copenhagen ! it 
is further than to Hamburg. But have I not seen you some- 
where before? have you not been on Fohr?” Elizabeth re- 
plied in the affirmative, and told her who she was. 


HELP FROM “ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.^^ I5I 

“ Now see, did I not think so?” said the woman ; “and 
do you not remember me, Widow Tredemann ? I have been 
over on Fohr, and over at the parson’s, too. But where 
are you going, and alone ? Would you go to Copenhagen ? ” 

Elizabeth could not speak — her excitement of mind dis- 
sob/Cvi itself in tears. The widow let her accompany them 
home, and on the way extracted from her that her journey 
concerned a human life, and that a letter was to be delivered 
to the king. This gave occasion to a hundred questions, but 
not to that one which would have been the most impor- 
tant — If they at home knew anything about this undertak- 
ing ? This the widow naturally concluded they did : she lis- 
tened with deep emotion to Elizabeth, who described the 
Commander’s and his wife’s trouble in a vivid and touching 
manner. 

“ But whom shall you go to in Copenhagen ? ” she asked ; 
“ whom do you know there ? ” 

This Elizabeth had not thought of before ; she, however, 
suddenly recollected Councilor Heimerant, Caroline’s father, 
whom Moritz corresponded with, and who had once written 
that Elizabeth should come and pass a winter with him in the 
capital. She therefore mentioned his name — yet without 
adding that she had no letter to him, nor yet that she 
knew not where he lived in that great and, to her, strange 
city. 

“ Well — it is well — that you have the Councilor to go to ! 
or else your journey would be of no use : but they ought to 
have provided better for you at home, and thought well over 
matters ; but they live there on their island in such ignorance 
of the world that it’s no wonder. Now hear me. I shall 
drive you over to Holnis, where it is most likely you will find 
a conveyance to Copenhagen ; our vessel, which should have 
gone this morning, is certainly there still, for it has been a 
dreadful storm ; it was to sail with a cargo of bricks to Karre- 
bæks-Minde, and if you get there, then you are in Sealand : 
But tme ! I must also get your passport undersigned, or else 
the skipper will not take you with him, so give me the pass- 
port.” 

Elizabeth had no idea that such a thing was necessary; 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


152 

she was, therefore, greatly terrified, and said, “ Passport ? — I 
don’t know, I have none — they did not give me one with me ! 
is it necessary ? ” 

“ Good Heaven ! ” said the widow, “ one cannot travel in 
Denmark without having a passport for every bit of water one 
must cross, and now, into the bargain, from the Duchies ! nay, 
this is too bad.” 

The widow was, however, a practical woman, and there was 
no time to be lost; as an inhabitant and householder, she 
got a passport made out, and Elizabeth arrived at Holnis 
by the wagon, and fortunately found the vessel still lying 
there. 

Skipper Thomming read the letter from the widow, and 
took Elizabeth on board. Next morning early they sailed 
out of the fiord, which, at every bend and curve, unfolded 
such charming views and magnificent wood scenery, that 
Elizabeth, on seeing all this, so new to her, forgot everything 
else. 

The wind was fair, and they were soon out of the fiord ; to 
the right lay the open Baltic, to the left the island of Als ; 
with Sonderborg, whose red-roofed houses and windmills 
rose behind the gloomy palace where Denmark’s king, Chris- 
tian II., had suffered and lived in the tower eighteen long 
years. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE STRANDED SHIP. — LETTER FROM ELIMAR. 

W HILE Elizabeth is sailing towards Sealand, we will re- 
turn to the Halligers, where she was missed directly 
after daylight. Moritz and Hedevig thought she was at the 
Commander’s, but as she did not return home in the course 
of the forenoon, they sent Keike over to look for her ; she was 
not there, nor in any of the houses in the neighborhood. 
Hedevig now found the letter Elizabeth had left, and their 
consternation and anxiety were great. Out-of-doors it blew 
a terrible storm, which increased so, that by the next tide not 
a vessel was able to set out to Dagebbl, nor could Jap Lidt 
Fetters be expected to return. A fisher-boy, who had been at 
the ferry early in the morning, said that Elizabeth had actually 
gone with the boat. 

“ Gracious God ! ” said Hedevig ; “ I cannot conceive what 
has driven her to do such a thing ! — unfortunate child ! — 
why will she? — what is her intention? Moritz, what have 
you said to her ? — what has happened ? ” 

“ The poor, dear, blessed girl ! ” sighed Madame Leyson ; 
“I have an idea! — yes, she would do it!” — and the old 
woman covered her face with her hands. “ O, my God ! she 
has certainly not delivered the letter at Weick ! she has gone 
with it herself direct to the King! she has gone straight 
to Copenhagen!” and then she confessed everything; but 
added, that Elizabeth, on her arrival at home the day before, 
had nodded to her question, “ If the letter was delivered ? ” 
The storm continued to increase ; it was just at that time 
of the day when, as we know, Elizabeth was obliged to seek 
shelter in the inn near Geestland. A ship was in sight ; the 
storm drove it in towards the land ; large waves rolled in on 
Gland, so that one could no longer stand firm out-of-doors ; 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


154 

the sea and storm rose with a deep rumbling noise, with a 
whining and whistling that took such a violent hold of the 
houses, that the doors and windows rattled ; the loose 
ground seemed to shake ; they were as if on board a ship ; 
the long, heavy seas rolled on over the island, and reached 
in their last strength, as they died away, the lowest situated 
houses. 

“ O, that poor child ! ” sighed Hedevig ; “ where is she at 
this hour ? ” for her she felt anxiety and fear, more than for 
the unfortunate men whose ship at that moment drove against 
the shoals near Seesand. This is a large white sand bank 
stretching out from the island of Amrom ; at half-tide it is 
dry, being only washed over in a storm-flood ; about the mid- 
dle of it is built a pyramidically formed beacon, of strong 
beams, with a large globular-shaped erection fifty-five feet high, 
and visible at a distance of forty or fifty miles in clear 
weather. This tower of beams is the only sure landmark on 
the outer side of the land between Amrom and Eidersted, and 
of particular importance, partly to the vessels that are acci- 
dentally driven on this part of the coast, and partly as a guide 
when sailing into the entrance of the channel west and south 
of Amrom. Near this beacon the vessel now lay stranded. 
The inhabitants of Oland had seen them in the morning, be- 
fore the storm had set in, steer for the entrance ; but ac- 
quainted with the danger, they had, when the weather became 
so violent, again endeavored to gain the open sea, but too 
late, as the heavy seas and the sea-wind drove the vessel 
against the shoals, and soon set it fast in the sandy ground. 
It was impossible to send out help to them, but in their dis- 
tress it was fortunate that they stranded directly opposite the 
“beacon,” which is not only a landmark, but a refuge for 
those who reach Seesand, and are not washed away there by 
the rolling waves. 

Up this gobular-shaped building there is a sort of chamber, 
in which are placed a cask of fresh water, some sea-biscuits, 
and a bottle of spirits, so that the stranded mariners may sus- 
tain life here for a few days, until the. sea has become so calm 
that help may be sent from the islands. 

Towards evening they thought they saw a yellow handker- 


THE STRANDED SHIP. 


155 

chief wave from the beacon ; the stranded ship was thrown 
on its side ; it parted its timbers in the sand, and lay in the 
foam and surge ; not a soul seemed to be on board. The 
ship’s name was “ Kalver Street,” called after the first street 
in Amsterdam. 

Up in the chamber of the wooden building sat three of 
those who had been saved — nay, we may say four — for the 
ship’s dog was also saved. It crept into a corner, and with- 
out shaking its wet skin, lay down and looked with its large, 
honest eyes at the old steersman, who went directly to the 
ship’s biscuits, broke a piece off, took a dram of spirits, and 
left the two others to follow his example. The dog was not 
forgotten ; he also got a whole biscuit \ and then the old fel- 
low folded his hands and thanked the Lord that their lives 
had been spared. The only thing now to be done was to pull 
off his boots and pour the water out, strip himself naked, 
wring the water out of everything he had worn, and then put 
them on again just as they were. The sailor did just the 
same as he, but the third person, who was dressed in a black, 
tight dress, and with a large, gray cape over him, only loos- 
ened it, poured the water out of his boots, and then went to 
the spirits and the ship’s biscuits. 

“ Do as we do,” said the sailor ; “ then the togs will dry 
better.” 

But the pale, thin man, whose wet clothes made him look 
still thinner, only shook his head. 

“ I am afraid I shall get a cold,” said he, “ but now I am 
warm, delightfully warm, and I shall be more so with another 
dram.” 

“ Yes ; but only one,” said the steersman ; “ we may be 
obliged to lie at anchor here for several days yet, and you see 
all that we have to live on. Unship your toggery, like us, and 
squeeze it dry.” 

The pale man shook his head again; a cold shivering 
passed through him, but he said he was delightfully warm ; 
what was the reason that he refused to undress himself.? 
Therein was a characteristic trait, by which we may perhaps 
know the man of former years again. 

There is a story about a king who suffered from a severe 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


156 

and mortal sickness, and could only be cured by putting on a 
shirt which had been used and worn by one who regarded 
himself as being perfectly happy. They sought everywhere 
for such a person, but not one was to be found. At last they 
met with a shepherd ; he sang and was merry ; he was per- 
fectly happy ; he wanted nothing ; he wished for nothing, and 
they therefore begged his shirt of him for the king, but he 
had none ! — the perfectly happy man had no shirt ; and in 
this chapter our shipwrecked voyager resembled the perfectly 
happy man, and on that account it was that he could not 
take it off and wring it, that he would not take off his clothes, 
lest they should see what he wanted. The wet clothes, with 
the exception of boots and stockings, therefore, dried on his 
body. 

None of the three who sat in the beacon had any desire 
to talk ; tired and exhausted with the difficulties they had un- 
dergone, they each sat down in a corner ; the ship’s dog, 
“ Nibble,” lay in the fourth corner. The floor flowed with 
water from their clothes, and from the spray which beat 
against the trap-door. 

“ There are two things in the universe,” says Walter Scott, 
“ whose like it would be difficult to find ; namely, the sun in 
heaven, and the German Ocean on earth.” One of these in- 
comparable things the men who sat here knew only too well, 
and during its continually rolling thunder, they bent their 
heads and slept. 

When the storm had abated, some fishermen ventured out 
at high-water towards the beacon, and took the stranded 
men off ; the steersman and sailor were taken to the Com- 
mander’s, and the pale thin man, who seemed to be some- 
what more than forty years of age, was removed to the par- 
sonage. 

“ Excuse m) very wretched appearance,” said he with a voice 
that, under the circumstances, denoted an uncommon liveli- 
ness ; “ I always travel with the worst clothes I have ; the 
best I put in my portmanteau. ‘ Clean and decent,’ that is 
my motto.” 

Hedevig was already standing with an old dressing-gown 
of her brother’s, and opened a chamber door for their new 
guest. 


THE STRANDED SHIP. 


157 

“ I was going to Fohr for the benefit of my health,” said 
he, “ and to use sea-bathing ; I have not got it from the first 
hand.” 

“ Your life has been spared — the Lord be praised ! now 
rest with us awhile, and write to your family as soon as possi- 
ble, that they may be in no anxiety about you. What may one 
not suffer — what may one not think ! ” 

And Hedevig sighed deeply, for she thought of Elizabeth. 

The man, who was now thoroughly warmed, completely 
rested, and strengthened with food and drink, related his 
story to Moritz ; stating that he was a Hungarian actor of 
considerable fame, and assured him that he, particularly in 
Comora and Gran, had made a sensation as Max, in “ AVal- 
lenstein,” but that the too great interest a lady of rank had 
taken in him had brought his sense of duty in collision with 
his fortune, and that he had resigned it. 

“ I gave dramatic readings in St. Petersburg, which quite 
astonished them ; but I could not bear the severity of the cli- 
mate, and was obliged to go to Norway. There, where they 
had not seen a Laroche, a Lowe, an Anschutz play, not known 
those heroes of the Burg Theatre in Vienna, my scenic per- 
formances were new revelations in the realm of art. All were 
affected ; but there was one young girl — Stella was her name, 
and a Stella she was. She looked towards the ceiling — my 
performance enchanted her — she loved me, and was cast off 
by her family ; we were married ; and then came cabals 
in the theatre. A party arose and hissed, I say hissed, but 
the whole fashionable and enlightened world in Norway drew 
their boots off in the theatre, and beat the hissers out of it. 
That was my triumph ; so I left the country, and then it was, 
that on my return home, over one of the small Danish islands, 
my Stella gave birth to a daughter ; the little angel came so 
unexpectedly that we had to leave the high-road and seek ref- 
uge in a manor-house near at hand. 

“ The mother and child were well nursed and honorably 
treated, but Stella’s heart burst.” Here he wiped his eyes 
with his fore-finger, made a little pause, and continued: 
“ They kept the little one, for she was, I will not say mine, 
but the express image of her mother. She is now educated 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


158 

with the young Counts, and must be about fourteen years of 
age. She will probably, in the course of time, appear as a 
wife in that high and polished circle in which she moves. 
The young Counts are excellent persons ; they adore her, but 
I shall not see her ; I will not appear before her until I can 
do so in a manner worthy of her associates. There is some- 
thing, reverend sir, that one calls a noble shame, and that the 
poor, worthy man feels — he whom accident, or the moment, 
places on the dark steps of life’s trials.” 

Moritz fixed his gaze on him, and exclaimed, — 

“ I have heard another story that resembles this very much, 
if I except the conclusion. There it was that an unfortunate 
organ-player’s wife gave birth to her child in an old ruinous 
manor-house, where by accident came some young noblemen, 
friends of each other : they interested themselves for the 
child, and as there was afterwards an examination of the 
father before the magistrate, the child was taken into the 
house of an old Baroness. I was present myself ; I was a 
guest, and you were also present ; you were the organ-man.” 

“Yes, so you see that my story was correct,” said he, with- 
out any embarrassment. 

The man was so accustomed to “ group ” his events, that 
when he had related them he thought they were true, or at 
least that they deserved to be so. 

The steersman and the sailor, who had both been taken 
into the Commander’s house, were from Fohr; the vessel, al- 
though it bore a Dutch name, belonged to Fohr, as well as 
the ship’s dog Nibble, called after its native place, Niblum on 
Fbhr. 

“ I have a letter for you. Commander,” said the sailor ; “ it 
has got a little wet in my pocket, and spoiled about the edges, 
but I dare say it’s readable. I was very near not bringing 
it. But )^ou see. Commander, I should have been lawfully ex- 
cused.” 

“ From whom have you a letter to me, Nichols ; from Van 
Groote in Holland ? ” 

“ No, from your own grandson. I fancy you would not 
have been glad if it had been lost with me.” 

“ From Elimar ! ” exclaimed the Commander. 


LETTER FROM E LIM AR, 


159 

“ Yes,” answered the sailor; “ he wants so much to have 
the papers he writes about. Now they are of use.” 

“ They are sent in another direction,” said the Commander, 
who could not restrain a deep sigh. The deepest sorrow was 
depicted in the old man’s face. 

“ How did you know it before ? ” asked the sailor, with a 
sly smile, which did not seem suitable just then. “ We have 
had a quick voyage from there ; but of what use is all that 
after the last disaster we had ? ” 

“Tell me all you know about the unfortunate lad,” said the 
Commander. 

“ So very unfortunate one can’t call him,” answered the 
sailor ; “ he would, however, have got into that scrape sooner 
or later. It always follows after.” 

“ Shame ! ” said the Commander. “ Can you speak so to 
me in my own house, and in such a time of trouble ? ” 

The sailor looked at him. 

“ It is, however, a good match, as they say ; why shouldn’t 
he take her, even if she is old enough to be his mother ? Would 
not you. Commander, have done the same ? ” 

“ Whom do you speak of? ” asked the Commander. 

“ Of Elimar Leyson, your grandson,” replied Nichols : “ he 
is to marry the widow over there, and have the command of 
his own vessel. Don’t you see it in the letter ? ” 

“Your head is turned, man,” said the Commander. “You 
have not recovered from what you have suffered out there ; 
your thoughts wander. Yes, yes, one can also make seas on 
land, which break up our hearts within us.” 

“ Elimar Leyson is in the widow’s favor,” said Nichols. 
“ It is surely not so incredible ; he has a bold, active way with 
him, he is good looking, and that the women are fond of ; and 
so the rich widow, whom he trades for in America, has made 
him, from steersman, her own captain. I spoke with him my- 
self there ; their engagement had just been brought to bear 
when I had to come home, and so he wrote the letter I have 
here, and which he gave me to bring, for he knew that, from 
Holland, I should steer home directly with one of our Fohr 
folks.” 

“ Elimar is in Copenhagen,” said the Commander. “ Do 
you not know that ? He is there in prison, and in fetters.” 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


i6o 

“ How should he get there ? ” said Nichols, and stared with 
the greatest astonishment. “Then I must be a strange, 
goose-headed fellow, but that I am not ; and here is the let- 
ter, his own hand-writing, wet at the edges, but yet the driest 
in the whole pocket-book.” 

The old man seized it ; his hand shook — it was Elimar’s 
writing. He opened it and spread it out on the table, for it 
had parted in the folds. 

“ It is a little leaky in the seams,” said Nichols. 

The Commander read, began to tremble, sat down, stood 
up again, and went to the drawer where the letter from the 
authority in Weick had been placed. Yes, there it was, writ- 
ten clearly enough, — that Elimar had come to Copenhagen, 
that he was a prisoner, a criminal, and that he had killed the 
second mate of the vessel he was on board of. But now this 
letter from America, which Nichols had brought, was certainly 
of a later date ; it was Elimar’s writing ; and everything in it 
spoke of happiness and pleasure ; he spoke of successful voy- 
ages he had made, of the rich widow he had traded for there, 
and that she was pleased with his person ; that they were to 
be married ; that he was extremely glad and happy, and he 
requested the certificate of his baptism and other papers to be 
sent before the marriage. In a postscript was added a greet- 
ing to his little sweetheart Elizabeth, whom, he said, he could 
not wait for, but promised to marry her if he should become a 
widower. 

“ He has killed no one,” said the old man, and sank back 
in his chair, weeping. 

Madame Leyson’s joy and happiness were immeasurably 
great ; she kissed Nichols, ran over to Moritz and Hedevig, 
and laughed and cried in a breath. Their thoughts, however, 
were continually fixed on Elizabeth : w'hat had become of 
her, where had she got to ? Moritz had already finished sev- 
eral letters, which he was going to send to the different ferry- 
places, where he thought she must have stopped, as she had 
no passport with her, and was writing one to Councilor Heim- 
erant, for him to make all possible inquiries about her in 
Copenhagen, if she should have reached there. Not even to 
Hedevig had he said one word about the shipwrecked man 


LETTER FROM ELIMAR. 


l6l 

they had in their house being Elizabeth’s father, nor did 
he himself know that his child had the morning before been 
in the same house in which he now was — that it was on her 
account they were in so much trouble and anxiety. It was un- 
necessary to say anything about it, as neither advantage nor 
pleasure could arise from the communication. 

Now came the Commander, but not so well pleased as his 
wife, who, in her joy and rapture, had directly run over to 
Moritz’s : the Commander himself had been for the moment 
glad, but this sorrowful and probable doubt had soon arisen 
in him ; “ All was well and good when this letter was written ; 
so stood matters at that time ; but can this evil deed not have 
happened? — yes, perhaps the same day that Nichols sailed 
away with the letter. The match may have been broken off ; 
Elimar may have done some stupid trick, given up everything, 
and gone on board another vessel : everything that we fear, 
and must fear, may have happened. There it is exactly de- 
scribed, with all particulars from the police in Copenhagen. 
It is madness to be glad, and think and believe in such in- 
credibly good fortune ! ” 

Madame Leyson grew pale with terror, wrung her hands, 
and was just as ready to fear the worst again, as she had been 
to seize the joyous message that had been brought them. 

Moritz, on consideration, was obliged to allow that the 
Commander’s opinion was right. “Yet, one hope there is, 
however,” said he, — “a hope which ought not to be aban- 
doned.” He opened the letter again which he had written to 
Councilor Heimerant, and added the accounts given in Eli- 
mar’s letter, also Nichols’s communication, requesting him to 
use his best endeavors to obtain all particulars relative to the 
prisoner, and to write to them with the least possible delay. 
Jap Lidt Fetters, who had returned from Dagebbl, told them 
that Elizabeth had, sure enough, gone over with him, but had 
not gone to the inn at all, as he supposed ; no one on the isl- 
and had seen anything of her, so that she must — as was ac- 
tually the case — have gone directly onward. 

We will now see how far she got. She sailed in the Great 
Belt, opposite Langeland, in the same place where we, the 
evening she was born, saw Moritz with his young and noble 

II 


i 62 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


pupils in an open boat steer towards Funen ; the wind now, 
as then, was contrary; the skipper was obliged to tack about, 
and it was late on the following afternoon before he reached 
Karrebæks-Minde, where Elizabeth went on shore, thence to 
proceed to Copenhagen and seek the King and Elimar. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE WIDOW LADY. 



LIZABETH had landed at Karrebæks-Minde.^ Skip- 


1 per Thonning had shown her the way she should take 
to Nestved, and had advised her to sleep there that night, and 
next morning early set out for Copenhagen with the fly-wagon, 
as it was one of those days on which it went to Copenhagen, 
and in this way she would, for a trifling sum, be able to reach 
the city before evening. It was, besides, the safest and most 
advisable manner of travelling. At Nestved she was to stay 
at the wine-seller’s, at the corner of Holy Ghost Street and 
Catechism Lane : it was a good inn, and it was from there 
that the fly-wagon set out. Everything, he added, would be 
all right. It was not without a feeling of sadness that she 
bade farewell to the kind skipper, and set out on her way 
through the wood to Nestved. 

It was in October ; the trees were still full of leaf, and in 
their rich autumnal colors, though it was unusual at this late 
season. The air was so clear and rare after the storm ! It 
was the large trees, the whole woodland nature in its declining 
magnificence, so strange and yet so familiar, that seized her 
pure poetical mind ; there was something churchlike in the 
wood, and the sun shone like one of God’s words — like one 
of God’s sermons. 

She did not take the shortest way, but not knowing, she did 
not remark it. She suddenly heard the tones of an organ, the 
sounds of which came towards her from within the wood. 
She was close by old Herlufsholm, and some of the pupils 
from the school were playing on the green plain before the 
antique red mansion. The sun shone, the organ pealed, and 

1 Karrebaeks-Minde is a harbor in Sealand, for the provincial town 
Nestved, situated four miles distant inland, by Suse-beck. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


164 

it looked so homely and cheerful : one of the boys nodded to 
her so kindly, so friendly, that it did her good. She ven- 
tured to ask the way to Nestved, and he showed her the path 
along by the rivulet, past the water-mill, where Bergitte Gjon 
had dwelt, and where that pious, chivalric lady’s state-drawing- 
room is now transformed into a pig-sty. 

She soon saw the town before her, under the great sand 
bank which reaches to the height of the church tower. She 
found the inn and got a little chamber there ; she had bought 
some bread at the baker’s in the street. This she ate, and 
drank water with it, that she might not have too great a score 
to pay. 

Elimar occupied her thoughts continually. She should 
soon see him, perhaps on the following evening, but how 
should she get to him ? What must he not suffer ? and she 
thought of her foster-parents, to whom she had caused such 
bitter sorrow by leaving without bidding them farewell, which 
she could not, which they would not have permitted her to 
do ! And what will the monarch say ? will she have courage 
to speak to him, to make her petition to him ? “I will 
kneel at his feet and cry,” thought she ; “ he will read the old 
grandmother’s letter, and be touched by so much misery ! ” 
The tears trickled down Elizabeth’s cheeks. Music was 
heard from the street ; it was the trumpeters and drummers 
beating the reveille ; her thoughts were raised, and her spirit 
was lightened; she said her evening prayer in silence and 
slept. 

Early in the morning she was awakened by the servant, 
who told her that she must now get up if she meant to go 
by the fly-wagon. Two large spring-wagons, with four seats 
. in each, stood in the yard below ; several women and gentle- 
men, all fine persons, as Elizabeth thought, got into them. 
The wagons were very high ; she got a place in the middle ; 
the driver blew his horn, and they rattled quickly through the 
streets, where the people came to the windows, and there was 
such nodding and greeting, such a shouting hither and thither, 
and they went briskly on, but only till they got out of the 
town ; they then went very slowly indeed. It was the fly- 
wagon pace ; the fly-wagon conversation began, the fly-wagon 


THE WIDO W LAD Y. 165 

acquaintances were made. They all were, as we have said, 
fine persons. 

The heavens were clouded, and it blew hard ; but with Dan- 
ish equanimity, as regards the climate, they mutually consoled 
themselves, saying that they ought to be glad of the wind, 
otherwise they would have had a drenching rain. Two women 
told each other the most frightful stories about the fly-wagon, 
which had been upset the day before. It had once, the year 
previously, run over a child ; nay, they were never safe. 
Then they began to talk about misery; and from the fly- 
wagon they directed their discourse to an air-balloon that 
had fallen from a terrible height in England. There was a 
middle-aged man who spoke æsthetically, and was encour- 
aged in it by a young student, who seemed to be shrewdness 
itself. 

“ I say with Shakespeare, ‘ no, no,’ ” said the elder of the 
two, for he could quote. 

“ Where does Shakespeare say that ? ” inquired the student. 

“ He says so in many places. It is a well-known reply.” 

“ Yes, but then he says something more, surely ?” said the 
student. 

“ Indeed, do you think so ? ” answered the old man, a little 
offended. 

One woman spoke continually about cookery, and what they 
now dared to write in America. 

An old and sickly gentleman sat with his very young wife, 
and a friend he met with in the wagon approved of his mar- 
riage, and spoke very consolingly to the wedded couple, say- 
ing, that it was very prudent of him to take a wife that was 
young and active, as she could nurse him in his old age and 
sickness, and to whom he could leave means, so that, after 
his death, she would be able to live in comfort. 

The young wife was an enthusiastic admirer of two things, 
— her old husband, whose fingers she sat and played with, and 
the theatre in Copenhagen. Her calculations of time were 
always based upon the opening and closing season of the 
theatre. When she read in the newspapers that the boxes in 
the theatre were to be let for the coming season, it was to her, 
as it is to us to read about the storks having appeared, or that 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


1 66 

ripe strawberries have already come into the market. The 
travellers by the fly-wagon became more and more ac- 
quainted, and it was soon discovered that Elizabeth was “a 
stranger ” — from Holstein, as they said — and that she m as 
quite alone. Where the Halligers lay, no one knew, not e\:n 
the student, who stated that it was a wrong pronunciation f f 
the name, or else he should have known it. Halligers he 
made out to be Heligoland, and then it was soon Helgoland. 
Elizabeth shook her head, but did not enter into any further 
explanation. They then drove over the highly situated and 
hilly heath-land, with its wide prospect, past the Gisselfeldt 
and Bregentved woods. 

She did not see them in their freshness ; she did not see 
into the summer’s forest solitude, where the game springs in 
the high grass, where the stork strides in the meadows. She 
saw the coming death of nature, saw it in its decay, saw it 
from-the fly-wagon ; and yet, like a beautiful picture, it seized 
on her soul uncontrollably, during all the empty chatter around 
her. At length they reached Kjoge. The invalid exhibited 
the greatest desire during the whole journey to tell Elizabeth 
every particular about the country and houses — about every- 
thing — but she did not understand him, so peculiar were the 
remarkable things he pointed out. 

“ That now is Red House,” said he, about a house they 
passed on the road. In Kjoge he pointed to another house. 
“There lives my brother-in-law,” but Elizabeth turned her 
head to the opposite side. There stood the church, separated 
from the street by a low wall : a whole carpet of evergreens 
grew up the sides of the church walls, which reminded her of 
the old lady’s manor-house in Funen. Since Elizabeth was a 
child she had not seen such verdure. Thus poor Kjoge had 
the best flower of remembrance to show. After passing 
through the town they arrived at the inn ; here a change of 
wagons having taken place, Elizabeth got a place with the two 
women who had spoken so much about accidents. They 
must know, they said, who the little “ Holsteiner ” was, and 
she, with childish inexperience, told them the purport of her 
journey — that she had never been to Copenhagen, and that 
she knew no one. And now both the women — the one was 


THE WIDOW LADY. 167 

the widow lady — had a new and true misfortune, which they 
might add to the fly-wagon accidents. 

“ But whom will you go to when you get to the city ? ” asked 
the widow lady. 

Elizabeth named Councilor Heimerant, whom she did not 
know, but who knew her foster-father. The Councilor was, 
next to the king, her hope and support. 

“Yes, but where will you find the Councilor this even- 
ing ? Copenhagen is a large, terrible city, with bad men in it. 
Such a poor young child as you are cannot go alone through 
the streets ; there are the vilest young men ! 0 1 it is shock- 

ing.” And she made Elizabeth still more afraid. 

“ I don’t know what I shall do with her ! ” said the widow 
lady. 

They now approached Copenhagen : it was, as we have 
said, in October ; it was quarter-day, and wet and raw. 
There is at every season of the year something oppressive in 
coming from the country into a fortified city like Copenha- 
gen ; to drive for the first time through narrow, dark fortifica- 
tions, over small bridges, and through a long tunnel-like gate- 
way under the ramparts into the narrow streets, with high 
houses on both sides ; and this Elizabeth now did in the au- 
tumn season, in rain and drizzle, in an open wagon, just in the 
twilight of the evening of a removing-day. 

In other countries they do not know this day, which with 
us occurs once in the spring, and once in the autumn, when 
those families who change their dwellings, remove with all 
their goods from their old house to the new one. There is a 
bustle and a rummaging, such as might form a capital subject 
for a genre painter to study ; but is not so agreeable to the 
parties concerned. 

The stranger who does not know a Copenhagen removing- 
day, and comes into the city on that occasion, would imagine 
that he had got into a street where that quarter of the town 
was in flames, and that every one was dragging away bedding 
and furniture on wagons and hand-barrows in order to save 
them. Whole streets are heaped up with straw and dirt, and 
everything that is not worth keeping — an endless dung-hill. 
What a picture of perishableness ! There lies a shocking old 


i68 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


silk hat, which once awakened envy in the whole neighbor- 
hood, and yet surmounted an ugly phiz ; here lies a gray 
glove ; it was once white ; the bridegroom wore it on his wed- 
ding-day. Through this chaos drove Elizabeth. She felt 
oppressed, dispirited, and fearful. 

They all descended to the inn-yard where the fly-wagon 
stopped ; most of them found acquaintances waiting, and 
there was much joy and much chattering, inspection of boxes, 
crowding, and cab-driving. Elizabeth felt herself more des- 
olate than she had ever done before. Here she stood with her 
little bundle, and knew not which way to go. 

The widow was seeking after some one ; all at once she 
screamed out, — “ Sanne ! ” when, quite a little girl, thin and 
dirty, her hair hanging like rats’ tails about her face, struggled 
her way forward, kissed the widow lady’s hand, and took a 
little box that had lain on the lady’s lap during the whole 
journey. The little girl chattered away without ceasing, 
turned and screwed herself about, bored her way through the 
crowd, and screamed with her sharp voice to a country soldier 
who was to carry the trunk. The widow lady nodded to Eliz- 
abeth, looked at her again, and was going away, when Eliz- 
abeth in her fear seized hold of her cloak and asked, whilst 
the tears ran down her cheeks, — 

“ Good God ! ” where shall I go to ? ” 

“ Poor child ! ” said the widow lady, it is almost pitch 
dark ; come with me ; for a night or two I can surely find 
room for you. You might get into bad hands, poor child ! 
it is a dangerous town, and there are many wicked persons ! ” 

The soldier walked on with the trunk on his back, and 
Sanne ran on before with the little box. 

“ We are going to Laxegaden ” (Salmon Street), said the 
widow lady ; “ you have certainly heard speak of that street ; 
it lies in a good direction, between the theatre and the ex- 
change. It was in that street that the devil appeared a few 
years back, and which there was so much talk about j but the 
police could never find him out.” 

They made their way in rain and drizzle, through all the 
removing-day’s rubbish ; the many persons in the streets, the 
great bustle everywhere — everything had in it something 


THE WIDOW LADY. 


169 

alarming to Elizabeth. “ So many persons about, and not 
one knows me or cares about me ! ” this was the thought that 
forced itself on her. At length they reached Salmon Street. 
Like the other streets, it was filled with straw and heaps of 
dirt. A coppersmith stood with his three apprentices, and 
hammered away, blow for blow, on a large boiler near the 
house, which they entered, ascending many stairs, certainly 
more than there were in the church tower at 01 and. The 
room they walked into was not the most orderly in appear- 
ance ; the place did not quite answer to the fine clothes which 
the lady had on, in such bad weather, during the journey by 
the fly-wagon. Everything was thrown about in beautiful dis- 
order. Sanne ran hastily out to make a fire in the kitchen, 
then came for some money to buy wood, cream, and extract of 
punch. 

“ That’s a little wild, giddy thing,” said the lady. “ Sanne 
comes in the morning and evening to do the few house jobs 
for me. The last one I had was a good-for-nothing ; I was 
forced to send her away. By and by you shall see a young 
lady, Adelgunde, a clever, accomplished girl ; she goes to the 
best families, and assists them in dress-making and ornamen- 
tal work — she is perfect in that. She will certainly one of 
these days make a match in the higher ranks \ she is in fact 
born to be a princess.” 

Elizabeth knew not what to answer ; she sat there quite 
dispirited, and pressed the lady’s hand to her lips. The lady 
then gave her a drawer to herself, and a key, that she might 
put away her clothes and what money she had ; “ for some she 
must have, and then they would not grieve any more that 
night,” said she. Adelgunde would be there directly, and then 
they would each have a glass of punch ; in the morning they 
could think matters over, and then Elizabeth should go to 
Councilor Heimerant, who must take care of her, and would 
certainly do so. 

The lady put on a very good shawl ; the table was well 
spread, and then came Adelgunde, in a silk cloak and velvet 
bonnet. She was scarcely twenty years of age : her figure was 
slender, and her eyes sparkling ; she was an excellent talker, 
^nd by profession a seamstress. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


170 

The seamstresses in Copenhagen are a distinct class, and 
highly respectable girls — with exceptions. Their condition 
is usually very laborious and painful ; their gains are very tri- 
fling, and their life is often a prison life. From early morning 
until late in the evening they must work indefatigably at the 
houses of families, often entire strangers to them, from whom 
they receive various treatment. In the houses of the citizens 
they are generally reckoned of the family, and even take their 
meals with them, or in the children’s bed-rooms j but with 
persons of a higher rank, they are under a sort of arrest ; 
they are shut up in a room with their sewing, and there does 
not come a living being to them, except, as in prison, when 
their food is brought to them. 

There are many instances of these poor seamstresses ut- 
terly avoiding and detesting those houses, where, if even 
their gains are greater than in other places, they are not 
able to bear this separation from all society — this eternal 
silence. 

Adelgunde had long since made her own connection ; she 
only went where she amused herself, and that was not in many 
places, yet she was nevertheless like the lilies of the valley, 
well arrayed. 

The families she plied her needle for, she knew excellently 
how to take off, and she could, when she came home, repre- 
sent their foibles or peculiarities with genuine dramatic talent. 
She was at home at all places ; she knew her families from 
beginning to end, from top to bottom. 

The widow lady made her directly acquainted with Eliza- 
beth’s story, and Adelgunde was so affected by her friend’s 
conduct, that she fell on her neck, and called her, “her 
sweet lady ! ” What Elizabeth had done, she also pronounced 
charming. 

“ I hope the fellow will not come to be a convict,” said she, 
“ it is so mean ! He is your sweetheart, then ? O yes ! one 
so easily thinks of such things at your age ; I should do the 
same — it is in us. Ah ! see, she blushes ! I like that,” ex- 
claimed Adelgunde. “ She is, in truth, not so bad, that little 
thing yonder ; there is something out of the common, some- 
thing clever about her ; but her gown is from the country ” — 


THE WIDOW LADY, 


I7I 

and she laughed, and told her own stories the whole evening ; 
she knew so many, and had so much to tell. And they drank 
punch, and struck their glasses together, and drank a toast, 
which the lady whispered to Adelgunde, who then laughed 
and threw herself back on the sofa. It was strange to see 
the two merry women there, and the timid, afflicted girl. 

It was late when she got to bed : a pantry, separated by a 
wooden partition from the kitchen, into which the door opened, 
with two hearts cut out to admit air and light, was her bed- 
chamber. She said her evening prayer, and thanked the Lord 
that there were good persons in the world, and that she had 
found them in that great and terrible city. 

It was late in the day when she was called ; she had slept 
long. Adelgunde herself brought her coffee to bed to her, and 
when she got up and looked out of the kitchen window, the 
air was clear, the sun shone over the neighboring houses, a 
window stood open at a garret, and a little bird in a cage sang 
there so loud and merrily that it was a good omen of what 
the day would bring forth. She was soon dressed, and ready 
to go to Elimar directly. To see him, to console him, was 
her first thought; but the widow lady said that she could 
not hurry in that way to him ; she must first have permission 
from the police office. There was much to be done before 
one could get to see the prisoners, and particularly prison- 
ers under sentence of death. She would, however, make all 
inquiries herself that day, and then have matters so arranged 
that Elizabeth might get to see him as soon as possible ; but 
that she must go directly, that very forenoon, to Councilor 
Heimerant ; Sanne could accompany her. They must, how- 
ever, go first to the grocer's opposite, borrow the Directory, 
and see where the Councilor lived. 

His house was in Christianshaven, and thither they must 
bend their steps. Sanne knew the way through the exchange, 
for there was something to be seen ; shops and passages, two 
whole long streets under cover, and outside lay vessels of all 
kinds, from the small barks with apples and pots, to the large 
coal-vessels. There was such* a crowding with wagons and 
hand-barrows, girls with market-baskets, school boys with 
their books, and the whole street was one sheet of mud. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


172 

The girls from Amack with vegetables, and the fish-women 
shouted and bawled, the one hoarser than the other. 

Sanne skipped sometimes before, sometimes at the side of 
Elizabeth ; she was extremely nimble, and she also knew how 
to talk. 

Her eldest sister, she said, had just been married to a man 
whose employment it was to carry out newspapers > the wed- 
ding was celebrated at her parents’, and the sister had got five 
dollars given her by her mistress for the wedding ; two of 
them she had paid for a myrtle bouquet, — for the bride must 
have that, — and then they danced the whole night in their 
little room, where the bedstead and drawers were put into the 
passage. They had sat on the window-sills and had stock- 
fish and punch, and little Sanne laughed over all her little 
dirty face, and lost her slippers twice, which she had danced 
in and trod down, but she got them again, and so they arrived 
at the Councilor’s. 

George opened the door — honest old George — whom Car- 
oline had so often jested with. Elizabeth knew him from the 
descriptions she had heard of him at home ; nay, she even 
knew the furniture itself, so often had she heard about every- 
thing in that house. 

She said that she came from the Halligers, from Moritz, 
and George put on his very best face, but at the same time 
said that the Councilor had that very day gone into the coun- 
try and would not return for five or six days. Elizabeth was 
astounded ; she was nearly bursting into tears ; and when 
George asked her where she lived, Sanne was obliged to an- 
swer for her. They then returned home. When they ar- 
rived, Adelgunde was reading a novel by Johannes Wildt. It 
was so exciting, she said ; it was something different to those 
of Walter Scott, who did not understand the passion of love. 
As to Elizabeth’s disappointment, she consoled her by saying 
that five or six days were not an eternity, and that the Coun- 
cilor would then return ; she would meantime talk the widow 
lady over. 

The latter, however, did not listen with a very satisfied air, 
but Adelgunde knew how to talk, and pleaded that her friend 
had now become the little girl’s protector, and that her kind- 
ness would assuredly be repaid. 


THE WIDOW LADY. 

“ My good-nature costs me much ! ” said the widow lady ; 
“ it always gets the mastery of me. If I were a rich woman, 
it would be nothing ; then I might do as I pleased, and it 
would signify nothing ; but now I must think of the future. 
Well, then, you will remain here till the Councilor returns ; 
but then you must tell him what I have done ; I must have 
some recompense,” — r and then she called Elizabeth aside, 
and begged her to let her have three dollars beforehand, by 
way of loan, from those she had. The widow lady was in a 
momentary pecuniary embarrassment. As to Elimar, the po- 
lice officer had been spoken with, and she would probably get 
permission to speak with him the following afternoon. That 
day was also an audience day, and so she could take the fore- 
noon, and try her fortune with the king ; but she must hit her 
time well. 

Still another whole day before she could see Elimar ! Her 
heart throbbed with grief and impatience ; her head was as if 
it would burst, but she was obliged to reconcile herself to the 
conviction that what the others said was just and probable. 
Adelgunde read aloud, for her, out of “The Death-finger,” 
from one of the most charming places in it, as she assured 
her; in the evening there were two ladies on a visit, and they 
were treated handsomely, probably out of the three dollars 
that Elizabeth had lent ; but she found no comfort, felt no 
joy, not even in the widow lady’s love story — an intrigue, as 
she called it — by which she had got her husband. 

She had loved him from her earliest youth, but he had not 
observed it, for he was a man of business ; they then came to 
live in the same town — it was in Elsinore — and then began 
the intrigue. One day when she was in Copenhagen, she read 
in the newspaper that a man in Slagelse had advertised for his 
dog that had run away. She then lighted on a thought and 
wrote directly, and without more ado, that the dog had been 
seen in Copenhagen, though there was not a word of truth in 
what she wrote ; but within this letter she inclosed another, 
which she begged the man in Slagelse to forward to Elsinore, 
and this letter was to him she loved, which love she confessed 
to him without reserve, “ for it is always the best.” She did 
not write her name, and she thought that the circuit which the 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


174 

letter made would lead him on a wrong scent. And then she 
had written, “ that if now, after knowing the feelings of hei 
heart, he wished to know her person, he could on Saturday at 
noon find her likeness in four different girls in Elsinore. 
One was the woollen-draper’s daughter at the corner ; there he 
might go in and ask for some patterns of fine cloth j the sec- 
ond was at the iron-monger’s ; there he could buy a few nails \ 
the third place, he was to go into the passage and ask for 
some one who did not live there ; and at the fourth place, it 
was at the consul’s, he could do the same ; and when he had 
seen them all four, he could think over it. After this, on Sun- 
day, he was to go to church, where he would find all the girls 
in the last pew ; and when they went out, he was to speak to 
the one that pleased him most. If he chose the right one, he 
would receive a little note from her, and their engagement 
was then settled. And the letter came to its destination, and 
everything went right. He went to all four houses and to 
church on Sunday, and met with the right one : “ and so it 
was, as you see, mutual affection.” They became husband 
and wife, and now she was a widow lady. 

Adelgunde looked at her with all her eyes, laughed, and 
assured them that it might be the most charming novel, if it 
were only properly put together ; and the ladies admired 
what she had said, and told stories that might have placed 
them just as high in the fields of invention as in the records 
of love. Elizabeth knew not at last what they talked about ; 
she was absorbed in her own grief and the dark thoughts 
it gave rise to. Next morning she was to seek an audience 
of the King, and to see Elimar the same day. She felt 
that it was the most important day in her life ; how would 
it end ; with what peace and consolation should she go to bed 
on the morrow ? She was so young, and already so old in 
sorrow and anxiety. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


IN THE ANTEROOM, IN THE COUNCIL HALL, AND IN THE 
THEATRE, TOGETHER WITH WHAT FOLLOWED. 

L ittle SANNE was to show Elizabeth the way to Ama- 
lienborg, where King Frederick VI. resided, and that 
day gave audience to all. 

There was such nimbleness in Sanne that neither her hair 
nor her slippers would keep their places. She had again a 
story to tell : her brother-in-law, who carried out the newspa- 
pers, on the strength of which occupation he had married, 
was now to have his name printed on the paper as the respon- 
sible party for what was published in it ! And Elizabeth, that 
she might say something, though the whole w'as quite indiffer- 
ent to her, asked “ if he wrote the paper ? ” 

“ He neither .writes nor reads,” said Sanne ; he only car- 
ries them out, and is responsible.” 

They had now arrived at the palace. There stood soldiers 
in the colonnade, and a porter in red, with a silver stick. 
Elizabeth courtesied quite low, and remained immovable ; she 
expected that he would send her away, but he pointed up- 
wards to a passage where the life-guards stood with drawn 
swords, and she trembled. She, however, went the way she 
was to go, and stopped in the chamber where the lackeys sit. 
Here she courtesied and courtesied again, until, with a smile, 
they opened the door for her, and she stood in the anteroom 
to the audience chamber. 

Here was an immense number of persons, gentlemen and 
ladies ; they stood together in silent expectation ; further on 
several gentlemen in gold and silver lace walked to and fro ; 
tliey might very well have been all kings, from their appear- 
ance ; some of them also had stars on their breasts, and all 
were decorated with an order. They talked much, but not in 
a loud voice, and they looked proud. They did not speak to 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


176 

those who were dressed in black, except it was the clergyman, 
with velvet on his coat, and the badge of an order : if they 
had not that^ Elizabeth thought they were not wanted there. 
Some old embroidered flags hung against the wall over two 
kettle-drums, and these were the only remarkable things in 
the room. 

Here, then, lived the King. She knew that he did not bear 
the crown and sceptre every day, and she had formed a sort 
of idea of his person from the portrait that hung by the altar 
in the church at home on Oland. How would he listen to 
her ? how would God dispose her speech ? She endeavored 
to arrange it in her mind, and she thought she had words that 
would plead her cause. One of the gentlemen in waiting 
went about in the crowd where she stood, asked every one 
their business with the King, and wrote it down. He came 
also to Elizabeth ; he must know her name, and whence she 
came from. Her voice trembled when she answered him. 
An hour passed away, and a second, too ; many persons were 
admitted to the King and went away again, but there were 
still many remaining. Half an hour more elapsed when the 
officer nodded to Elizabeth, she was so far from him. On 
her approach he called on her to enter, and she stepped up 
to the side of the door of the royal chamber, as she had seen 
the others do. Now then was the moment ! She closed her 
eyes, folded her hands, and collected her thoughts. Just 
then a lackey came and whispered to the officer in attend- 
ance, who went in to the King, and came out again directly 
with this intimation, “ The King will see no more to-day ! ” 

“ Give me your petition,” said he to Elizabeth, “ and I will 
take care that the King gets it.” 

“ I must speak with him,” she stammered out. “ O, my 
God ! ” and she was nearly fainting. 

“ Come on Monday,” said he, “ and you will then get an 
audience.” 

All present departed ; Elizabeth was also obliged to go at 
the moment she stood so near the door of grace — at the mo- 
ment she had vividly collected all that she would say. 

She returned home deeply dispirited, but the widow lady, 
who knew the custom of the antechamber, had foreseen this. 


IN THE COUNCIL HALL. 


177 

She would herself go with Elizabeth in the afternoon to “ the 
sinner,” as she called Elimar. 

“ I will go with you to the council hall,” said she ; “ though 
it is a detestable place, where I have never been before ; but 
now, as I have once taken you under my charge, I must go 
through with it.” 

They went to the “ council and judgment house.” It was 
to Elizabeth a heavier and still more terrible road than to the 
King’s palace. In a few moments, then, she should see Eli- 
mar, her childhood’s friend, him who held her fast in the rising 
waters, him, her constant thought. 

The high columns of the council hall, the large grated win- 
dows, the broad steps, the difference of the whole building 
from the other houses in the square, contributed to heighten 
her feelings. They went up the broad stairs, down long pas- 
sages, and over a gallery^ whence they looked down into a large 
hall ; everything was so vast, and different from the represen- 
tation which Elizabeth had made to herself of the way to a 
prison ! Here it was not dark, gloomy, and old, as in the 
Edinburgh Tolbooth ; and yet the widow lady kept on chat- 
tering about its being so terrible, — that the air was quite op- 
pressive, and that her legs trembled under her. 

They now entered a chamber fitted up as a sort of office or 
counting-house ; and the officer sent one of the policemen to 
fetch Elimar Leyson. A deadly paleness overspread Eliza- 
beth’s brow ; she was obliged to hold fast by the chair, for it 
seemed as if everything in the chamber turned round. The 
officer returned with the prisoner, who was dressed in a dread- 
nought seaman’s suit. He looked boldly around him : Eliza- 
beth had made a step forward, but stopped. 

“ You may now speak together,” said the chief officer. 

“It is not he,” exclaimed Elizabeth; “it is not Elimar 
Leyson, he whom I seek, — I don’t know the man who stands 

there.” 

“ That is Elimar Leyson.” 

“ No, no, it is not ! I seek Elimar, over from Oland, the 
Commander’s grandson, who”— she could not pronounce 
it — “has murdered — they said — who has come home from 
America as a prisoner.” 

12 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


178 

“ That is you,” said the chief officer to the prisoner j ** is 
not your name Elimar Leyson ? ” 

“That is my name,” he answered with a peculiar smile j 
“ I am the grandson of the Commander on Oland.” 

“ No, it is not possible,” said Eliabeth, with singular vehe- 
mence. “ Elimar did not look like him ; he could never look 
so ; they are not his eyes — not his face — nothing is like 
him ! ” 

The chief officer listened wdth attention to Elizabeth, 
regarded her and the prisoner; and a sort of examination 
took place, during which Elizabeth naturally and innocently 
described all the grief and trouble that had fallen on the old 
folks at home ; that Madame Leyson had written a letter to the 
King, and that she had come with it to Copenhagen, and that 
she had sought an audience that very day. 

“ So, the Commander and Mother Leyson take it so terribly 
near to heart, eh ! ” said the prisoner. “ I thought as much ; 
it will do them good. They will remember Jes Jappen ! ” 

“ Jes Jappen ! ” cried Elizabeth. 

Yes, it was he — Jes Jappen, the servant-girl’s son. He 
had actually been shipwrecked in America, had lost his pass- 
port and papers, and without any fixed purpose, but for a 
momentary whim, had called himself Elimar Leyson when he 
entered into service on board another vessel. In a dispute he 
had stabbed the mate with his knife, and wffien he was brought 
to Copenhagen in fetters it was a pleasure to him to think 
what anxiety and terror it would place them in at the Com- 
mander’s, when they heard that “ the old dame’s brat,” as he 
called Elimar, had come to such disgrace. “ Such a little 
touch would do them good,” he said, “ for they would soon 
know that it was a lie, and so they would have double pleas- 
ure.” 

All this he confessed voluntarily, and when he saw how 
Elizabeth’s eyes glistened, how her w^hole face expressed a 
feeling of delight, a grin overspread his face, and he said, “ it 
was a sin if he took the rich widow over there, when he had 
such a sweetheart ! ” 

Elizabeth crimsoned, and the prisoner was led away to be 
afterwards reexamined. The chief officer told Elizabeth that 


IN THE COUNCIL HALL. 


179 

it was probable she might be summoned there again, yet it 
would not happen unless Jes Jappen came forward with fresh 
lies, in which case her statement would be required. He then 
got the widow lady s address, and when he congratulated 
Elizabeth on the fortunate result to her, she seized his hand 
and kissed it with as much feeling and emotion as if a human 
life had been given to her at that moment. The whole build- 
ing, with its stairs and passages, was now as beautiful in her 
eyes as a fairy palace. She laughed, she cried, and kissed the 
widow lady’s hand and cloak. 

“ But God save us, child ! ” said the widow lady ; “ it is 
charming; it is beyond all expectation, is it not? — but be 
reasonable ; let us only get home ! let us get out of this 
thieves’ hole ! Ugh ! the air will cling to our clothes : there 
is something in the air of the council hall like the air in the 
hospital ; it gets right into the clothes,” and she puffed and 
fanned herself with her embroidered handkerchief. 

Elizabeth was glad and happy as she had never been before. 
She must write home directly to say that it was not Elimar 
who was in prison and in fetters, and that she herself was in 
good hands, with a kind, dear lady, whom she had met with 
in the fly-wagon; and that in two days the Councilor was 
expected home, and that she would pray him to assist her to 
Gland. And she now remembered that she had another 
acquaintance in Copenhagen, the dear Trina, who was married 
to shoemaker Hansen — Trina, who once, as a child, had 
been in the theatre and danced with wings on, and with span- 
gles on her shoes. Elizabeth asked the widow lady if she 
knew her ; if she knew where she lived, if they could not find 
her out from that book where they had found the Councilor’s 
dwelling. 

“ He is assuredly too common a shoemaker to have his 
name in the Directory,” said the lady, “ and there are swarms 
of people called Hansen ; most of them change their dwell- 
ings every half-year. They have only an awl and a strap, and 
a whole flock of children.” 

“ Oh, yes, it must be she ! ” said Adelgunde. “ I know 
her ; they have no children, and they live over the way in the 
cellar. She is still at the theatre, and sings in the choruses ; 


i8o 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


her narhe is Trina Hansen. It is true I have never spoken 
with her, but it is she sure enough ; she has been in service in 
Funen at the Baroness’s with the turban ! ” 

“ With the mad Baroness ! ” said the widow lady. Do you 
not know that she came here from Funen a week ago, and her 
grandson is with her ; but he stays at the Hotel Royal. He 
is a handsome young man ; he looks like an Italian. You 
would like him much. I’m sure, Adelgunde.” 

Sanne now came in from the grocer’s with half a sheet of 
letter paper. The little bi-t of silver paper which the shop-boy 
had laid between it and Sanne’s small fingers, was the cause 
of its coming shining white into the house. Pen and ink were 
brought out, and Elizabeth was soon occupied in committing 
all the late important events to paper. “ It was a sin if he took 
the rich widow over there, when he had such a sw'eetheart,” 
were Jes Jappen’s last words ; they were ever coming into 
Elizabeth’s thoughts ; they remained there at least for a mo- 
ment, so powerful, so disturbing, however insignificant they 
might be ; yet they had an effect like a fine hair in the telescope, 
which seems like a cable, and prevents one from properly 
regarding the object that is to be seen. But as we have said, 
it was only for a moment. As she wrote, the light shone more 
and more into her soul. Elimar was free and innocent — the 
whole had been like a horrible dream. She thought of the 
old couple’s joy and happiness when they came to know all 
this j and her next fear, which she expressed to Adelgunde 
and the widow lady, was, if the letter would go safe, if they 
would take good care of it, and how many days it would be 
before it reached Oland ? To the last question they could 
give no answer ; they, however, consoled her, so far as con- 
cerned its safety. All letters, they told her, were registered 
in a book at the post-office, and then they were quite safe. 

Sanne was to go with the letter; but Elizabeth was so 
afraid that she might lose it, or deliver it to any other than 
the postmaster himself, that she would rather go with it her- 
self, and begged them at the post-office, that it might go safe, 
as it was so important ; and they promised her that it should 
be safely delivered. 

Now therefore that it was no longer necessary to go to the 


IN THE COUNCIL HALL. 


l8l 


King, she had no one to see except Councilor Heimerant and 
Trina — yes, she must visit her honest, affectionate Trina. 
Would they know each other again ? 

Gay, and unusually talkative, which she had not been be- 
fore, she now came home with Sanne, with a pleased face, and 
Adelgunde said “ that that lively manner suited her ! she 
might be quite piquant if she had clothes that were somewhat 
en jnode/^' and they laughed and talked, and drank punch, 
and an arrangement was made that Elizabeth should go out 
next day with the widow lady, and see a little of the town. 

Their observations during the walk were not the most pro- 
found ; we may, perhaps, be led into others, however, during 
the tour, which, if they be not profound, may yet serve as a 
bridge of communication to what is further to be related. 
Fishing and begging have something in them nearly akin. 
The angler can sit the whole day on the same spot, and wait 
and wait, and often only get a miserable little bleak, or a 
gudgeon, after all. The beggar also sits the whole day in the 
same spot, and waits and waits, for a miserable copper coin. 
There is, however, this difference, that the one says he does it 
“ to amuse himself,” the other, “ to support life.” The one who 
amuses himself often tears the innocent fish off the hook, so 
that its mouth, gills, and eyes are rent asunder, and if the fish 
be too small it is thrown bleeding into the water again, or on 
the grass to die there. The beggar — at least he who sits in 
his fixed place like the angler — does not commit such bar- 
barous mischief — that sort of beggar at least does not; but 
there is another sort, not the worthy, but the well-dressed, 
itinerant beggar, who often rends mouth, gills, and eyes in a 
spiritual sense ; one of these well-dressed, itinerant beggars — 
nay, it is not to be concealed — we are in her company when 
we are with the widow lady. 

“ You must do me a service,” said she to Elizabeth, as they 
walked along. “ Here in this street lives a man of whom I 
ought to have some money. Go up with this letter, on the 
second floor to the left : he is a man well to do, and if he 
asks you who it is from, you can — not to make a long ex- 
planation — say, that it is from your mother! I don’t like to 
dun 'him verbally, for then he talks so piteously that I am 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


182 

affected by it ; but now that I have written to him I shall not 
get much, I dare say, and it is cruel not to be able to get 
one’s own hard-earned gains ! But do not say a word about 
what I have said ; not a single word ; it would trouble him, 
and that I cannot find in my heart to do ! ” 

Elizabeth went into the house with the letter. The person 
to whom it was addressed opened the door himself. He 
was in his dressing-gown, and appeared a friendly old man. 
He read the letter with something of a piteous face, shook 
his head, walked about a little and said : “Yes I would, will- 
ingly ; but it is impossible. I have, of late, had so many 
expenses. Every one flocks to me ! Hm ! hm ! poor woman ! ” 
and then he went to his desk, took out a dollar, and gave it 
to Elizabeth. “Tell your mother,” said he, “that it is all 
I can do for her at present,” and he looked quite kindly, and 
opened the door for her. 

The widow lady, who stood in the next door-way, came for- 
ward and asked what he had said. 

Elizabeth told her every word, and gave her the dollar. 

“ Is that all that you got ? ” asked the widow lady ; “it is 
shameful ! I ought to have a good deal of money from that 
fellow, and he gives me a dollar ! it is almost an insult ! he 
deserves that I should go up and talk to him. He must have 
been in liquor when he did it — for you must know that he 
drinks ! Did he not run on strangely ! did he not say any- 
thing that you thought strange, respecting my dunning him 
for my money ? ” 

Elizabeth repeated every word he had said, and the lady 
was relieved. There was nothing that could lead the old gen- 
tleman to suppose that he had received a common begging 
letter. 

“ He is a miserable fellow,” said the widow lady. 

That was the character the worthy old gentleman got, who 
thought that “ the highly necessitous widow, who had known 
better days,” at that moment blessed him. 

“It is not enough for a pair of French gloves, which I am 
so much in want of! ” said she ; “I must add something to it 
to get them ; ” and she did so. 

When they got home Elizabeth had at least seen and been 
in most of the shops in East Street. 


IN THE 1 HE A TRE. 


183 

*‘We have not been idle,” said the widow lady. 

“ And now I shall give her a treat,” said Adelgunde. 

“You have certainly no theatre in Holstein, on your isl- 
ands. Good Heavens ! ” she added ; “ well, I never thought 
before that there were islands in Holstein. How remarkably 
large the world is ! You shall go with me to the theatre this 
evening. I have got two tickets from my sweetheart to the 
boxes, in the second tier. But we must go early, to get a 
place on the front seat ; and you must be dressed a little, 
child. You will lend her your shawl — the old one,” she said, 
turning to the widow lady, “ and I shall arrange her hair.” 

They set about it directly : Elizabeth had to sit in the mid- 
dle of the room. 

“ She has no holes in her ears,” exclaimed Adelgunde ; 
“ she has never worn ear-rings. How neglected she has been ! 
She must have my bandeau on ; it improves the complexion. 
Nay, but she is charming ! she will make a sensation ; a little 
innocent face like hers looks so well ! ” 

The two then set off to the theatre. 

“ We must go round by that little street there,” said Adel- 
gunde ; “ I must see the lottery numbers at the collector’s, 
for I have a ticket with three marks ' on the numbers I have 
dreamt of. If I get three out of the five,^ you shall have a 
present.” 

They went past the collector’s, but the numbers were not 
there. 

“ It is down there in the cellar that Trina Hansen lives, 
whom you know. Did you not see the name and the sign ; 
but you cannot run down there now ; there is not time for it, 
if we would get a place on the front bench.” 

And away she walked with Elizabeth, who noticed the house 
where the collector lived, close by the corner. They arrived 
at the theatre just as it was opened ; and with a singular 
adroitness in using her elbows and pushing aside others, 
Adelgunde led her through the crowd in at the door, and up 
the stairs, and they got a seat on the front bench. 

Adelgunde knew almost every one there, particularly the 

1 About eighteen-pence, English. 

2 Ninety numbers are placed in the wheel, out of which five are drawn. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


184 

gentlemen, whom she mentioned by name ; but, amongst all 
these names, there was only one that sounded like a well- 
known name — it was Thorvaldsen. The hale old man, with 
that friendly face, and long white hair, stood down in the pit. 
He seemed to look straight up at her : her heart beat quicker, 
as if it were the King she saw. How often had she not heard 
Thorvaldsen named during the last year! The description 
of his splendid reception in Copenhagen had brought tears 
into Moritz’s eyes. Here he now stood ; here in the same 
house, under the same roof ; she thought that all the rest 
were only here to see him, to be in the same house with him. 

But such were not Adelgunde’s thoughts. The music be- 
gan ; the curtain rolled up, and they performed the vaude- 
ville — “Kjoge-House Cross.” The scene was laid in Kjoge, 
that town which Elizabeth had passed through three days be- 
fore in the fly-wagon \ there, where she had made acquaint- 
ance with the widow lady. It is true she did not recognize 
the houses, but she knew the green trees and the sea. Yes, 
it was Kjoge, but the “ House Cross ” was not taken from the 
dreadful ghost and witch story. Elizabeth understood well 
that the honest brick-layer, who from his scaffolding before 
the house looked in like the swallow, and saw what passed, 
was the supernatural being — was the House Cross that 
helped the lovers. It was an entire story, so real, and yet not 
quite reality, for they sang so much ; but it was charming, 
and Adelgunde explained to her throughout the whole piece. 

“ That is Fru Heiberg,” said she, “but it is a poor part she 
has. She is in her own clothes, and what she has to say here 
is so commonplace ; but now you can imagine her in gold and 
silk, and when she speaks in verse. I am not over fond of 
vaudevilles y that I must say.” That was Adelgunde’s opinion, 
and it was just as shrewd as that of many others. 

The empty places in the court part of the pit, the numbered 
seats in the “ lion’s row,” as the bench nearest the stage is 
called, and which is usually frequented by the Copenhagen 
lions, was filled, for the real play now began — the ballet. 
Amongst those who had entered was a young man in a rich 
fur-lined surtout. He had kept it on, for it looked well on 
him. His well-arranged hair was somewhat thin, but his 
beard, on the contrary, thick and handsome. 


IN THE THEATRE. 


»85 

" Do you see him who came in just now? ” said Adelgunde, 

that handsome young man — him in the fur surtout ? It is 
a valuable skin. Is he not handsome ? Did you see that he 
saw us — he smiles ! — look through my glass : he winks with 
one eye ! — do you see ? That is my sweetheart ! ” And 
Adelgunde blushed like crimson, laughed and talked, rose up 
and sat down, put the shawl round her shoulders and off her 
shoulders ; there was just such an uneasiness and agitation 
in her as if she herself were going to take part in the ballet. 

The music began again, and the curtain rolled up. The 
ballet was “ The Festival in Albano.” The soft melodies, the 
southern scenery, the Italian dresses, the whole life and mo- 
tion on the stage were like sunlight to Elizabeth’s fancy ; the 
Campagna with Rome lay before her ; she was there herself ; 
the dancers ascended the mountain ; children with waving 
flags, and the whole nuptial procession followed. 

“ They come up out of a hole in the floor,” said Adel- 
gunde ; “ do you see that great lamb right down in the 
cellar?” 

But Elizabeth saw the mountains and valley, the clear blue 
air, the artists’ festival ] she understood all, except wherefore 
the two pilgrims became Greek gods, and accordingly asked 
what it meant. 

“ It is the ballet-master himself,” said Adelgunde, who had 
an answer for everything. 

The music continued, and the varied dresses dazzled the 
eye. The roseate hues of eve shone on Rome, the night 
broke forth, and the torches were lighted during the exulting 
dance. Elizabeth during the whole time had collected all 
this as in one sum of thought ; all that she had read and 
heard spoken of at home, about beautiful Italy, stood before 
her, and the tears came into her eyes. 

“ It is over ! come now,” whispered Adelgunde. The cur- 
tain had not yet fallen, but she drew her away with her. The 
crowd streamed out after them. When they reached the 
furthest door which stood open to the street, the rain poured 
down : it was terrible weather, and there was a crowding and 
pushing with wet umbrellas. In the midst of the crowd stood 
the gentleman in the fur-lined surtout. He was looking foi 


i86 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


some one — it was Adelgunde. She followed him with Eliz- 
abeth, and before she knew where she was, they had all three 
entered a hackney-coach. It was particularly fortunate in 
such weather, and away they drove. Elizabeth neither knew 
the right nor the wrong of the matter, but when they stopped 
it was not before the house where the widow lady lived. 

“ But where are we now ” asked Elizabeth. 

“ W e shall take tea with my sweetheart,” said Adelgunde ; 
*‘it is a sort of amusement that is quite common in Copen- 
hagen.” 

“Yes, you will do us the pleasure,” said the gentleman, in 
a very friendly manner, and she accompanied them, for where 
could she go to ? And there is nothing wrong in taking tea 
with one’s betrothed. 

When they reached the first room the servant said that 
there was some one in the parlor — the gentleman who had 
breakfasted with the Baron the day before, and as he saw the 
table laid, and the tea-urn, he had walked into the room and 
said that he would wait. 

“ Him 1 O, that’s nothing,” said he to Adelgunde, who 
seemed as if she would turn back ; “ he is one of my most 
intimate friends ; he is no Copenhagener, and he is half a for- 
eigner.” 

Orders were given to bring in champagne, as well as tea. 
The door was opened at the same time, and a handsome man, 
probably a little more than thirty years of age, with a perfect 
Italian face, received the Baron with a smile, for Adelgunde’s 
companion — or, if you will, her betrothed — was no less than 
a baron. 

The friend began with an excuse for having forced his way 

in, but stopped “ Ladies ! ” he exclaimed — “I 

beg you a thousand pardons, my friend ! ” 

“ Don’t trouble yourself about it,” answered the Baron ; 
“I shall present you to each other directly. Know my 
charming little Baroness, and here is her younger sister and 
true friend. You present her,” said he apart to Adelgunde. 

The strange, handsome man laughed, showed the finest set 
of white teeth, and looked with a piercing eye at Elizabeth, 
who became still more perplexed. 


WHAT FOLLOWED. 


187 

‘‘ This is my friend, the Baron of Montefiertone, etc., etc., 
etc., and other lands,” said the Baron. “ He is, as you see, 
ladies, an extremely handsome man, and, I may add, a great 
connoisseur of the beautiful; and now we will have tea. 
How captivating you are, you little witch ! ” said he to Adel- 
gunde, as he swung her round. 

Adelgunde laughed, threw herself into a rocking-chair, and 
was up again at the same moment. She must be mistress, 
and pour out the tea. 

While all this passed Elizabeth stood still, and fumbled 
with her large shawl ; she knew not whether she should go or 
stay. 

“ You are not afraid of me, are you ? ” said the stranger, 
and looked at her so steadfastly and strangely with his dark, 
lively eyes, that she cast hers down. She felt a fear at her 
heart, as if that man would do her some injury. 

“ It is a charming little face,” said he, and he took hold 
of her hand; involuntarily she screamed aloud, and darted 
towards the door. 

AdelgUnde looked angrily at her. 

“ Don’t be a child ; one would think you had never been 
in men’s company before. This is the way in Copenhagen, 
child ! ” 

“ O God, I am indeed a child ! ” exclaimed Elizabeth : 
‘‘ let me go home ! ” and she looked with such a strangely pite- 
ous expression at the Baron, who was the one she had most 
confidence in of the three. 

“ O you little fool ! ” said he ; “ why, you are at home, you 
are with your friend,” and he laughed and nodded to Adel- 
gunde. 

The stranger again looked with a singularly scrutinizing 
look at Elizabeth, who was deadly pale, and had made hef 
way close to the door. 

“Is it your serious intention to go?” he asked. “You 
ought to have your will, but you cannot go alone, so permit 
me to accompany you.” 

“ No, no,” cried Elizabeth, as she threw the door open and 
ran out of the room, down the stairs, and, as she did not know 
the way, right into a sand-hole, where she fell on the soft sand. 


i88 


THE 7W0 BARONESSES. 


“ She will not run away,” said Adelgunde ; ‘‘ she knows no 
place to go to : she is just from the country.” 

The stranger, who had remained behind, looked at Adel- 
gunde, then sprang out of the room, threw his cloak around 
him, took his hat in the greatest haste, and was at the street- 
door as soon as Elizabeth, who, by falling into the sand-hole, 
had been detained some seconds. 

“ O, let me go ! ” she said ; “ do me no harm ! I am so 
afraid ! ” 

“ But, my dear child,” said the stranger, “ I will do you no 
harm \ I will help you ; I will accompany you. I have not 
said a word that could terrify you. You don’t know any 
place to go to : your friend up there said you were just from 
the country.” 

Elizabeth was silent, but walked on quicker, though she 
knew not whither. The stranger walked by her side. 

“ I assure you that you may place confidence in me,” said 
he again ; “ and if you have quite innocently got into bad com- 
pany, as I believe, then I will help you out of it, and conduct 
you where you desire. If I have shown myself a little too 
familiar, then you shall see that I may be excused, and that, 
on my part it was quite natural. Give me your arm, and tell 
me where I shall accompany you ? ” 

There was something so frank and honest in his voice, that 
a natural and innocent child like Elizabeth must have believed 
it ; yet she did not take his arm, but said, with a trembling 
voice, ‘‘ Do not be angry with me ! I know nothing ; I am a 
perfect stranger here in this great city. O ! how afflicted 
they would be at home for me, if they knew how I am sit- 
uated.” • 

The stranger then questioned her again with cordiality and 
compassion, and he then learned that she had come to town 
to seek an audience of the King \ that she knew no one ; that 
the widow lady had allowed her to stay with her, and that 
she had there become acquainted with Adelgunde, who had 
taken hcc to the theatre that evening, and that on leaving 
it, they had entered a carriage which she thought would have 
carried them home; but, on ffle contrary, it hc..d brought them 
to the house they now came from. 


WHAT FOLLOWED, 


189 

“But, my dear girl,” said he, “that widow lady and this 
Adelgunde, are no fit company for you. It would be a sin to 
take you there. But what shall I do for you ? Do you know 
no other person ? ” 

“ No,” said Elizabeth, “ no one but a Councilor, who lives 
in Christianshaven, and him I have never seen, nor is he at 
home ! ” 

“Well, that is just the same as knowing no one,” answered 
the stranger. “ What shall we do ? we cannot stay here in 
the street ; it rains so terribly ! ” 

“ The widow lady is so good to me,” said Elizabeth ; “ she 
is a very decent, honest woman ! ” 

“ No, no, said the stranger, “ that she certainly is not ; but 
that you don’t understand, and it is very well you do not. 
If I only knew a decent person ; but I am myself almost an 
entire stranger here. Where does * that widow lady then live, 
for we must perforce go to her ; and yet I cannot find it in 
my heart to take you there.” 

“ If I had only spoken with Trina ! ” said Elizabeth ; “ she 
is good and honest.” 

“Who is Trina?” he inquired. 

“ She is a shoemaker’s wife, whom I knew when I was a lit- 
tle child ; she was very fond of me ; she lives very near the 
widow lady’s, but I have not spoken with her here in town, 
and not even seen her ! ” 

“ Let us go to Trina,” said the stranger quickly, and with 
an expression of gayety ; “ I believe the shoemaker’s wife is 
safer than the widow lady.” 

“Yes, yes, I thank you!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “O 
how frightened I am ! what will become of me, if it be not 
Trina — not she I think it is ! O God help me ! ” 

“ I will accompany you to the door ; you go in, and if it 
be the wrong place, come back directly. I promise you that 
I will wait a quarter of an hour ; if you do not return by that 
time, then I hope you are in good hands. But do you know 
the way we should go ? ” 

“ I think I know it, when I am at the theatre,” answered 
Elizabeth. 

He conducted her thither, but she did not know the build- 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


190 

ing again directly — it was now so desolate. Instead of that 
mass of light which streamed out from it before, there now 
only shone a dull gleam from a window in the roof, where the 
watchman had a room. The large building, which a few 
hours before was the most lively place in the city, where the 
music pealed, where great thoughts and ideas were current, 
was now empty and ghost-like, a body deprived of its soul. 
Elizabeth looked around her, and on seeing the columns of 
the coffee-house, she remembered the side street she should 
go down in order to get to the house where Trina lived. 
Here, the lottery- collector’s sign was her guide. She pointed 
to the cellar where there was a light, and said in a singularly 
affecting manner, — 

“May the Lord bless you for all your kindness towards 
me ! ” 

“ I shall wait a quarter ' of an hour,” said he, and pressed 
some money into her hand. She looked at him once more 
with an expression of thanks and blessing, and darted down 
the steps into the cellar. 

The stranger walked slowly away towards the street cor- 
ner, stood still, went a few paces up and down, looked to the 
cellar steps, went on again and stood still, but no Elizabeth 
came. 

“ I am really out on an adventure ! ” said he to himself. 
“ This is at least as innocent a one as can be ! But what 
shall I do if she returns ? Am I to be her knight again ? — 
it is quite a peculiar situation ! ” and he continued to stand 
still by the street corner, where he received a “ good-night ” 
from the watchman. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE shoemaker’s CELLAR. 



THEN we think of Trina’s maxim, “ It is appearances 


V V one looks at, it is appearances, madame,” and remem- 
ber how severely her Hansen also thinks in this respect, then 
we may conceive what a surprise it was to the two honest folks 
to see a young girl, so late in the evening, with a long shawl 
over her shoulders, the: bandeau on her forehead, and her hair 
wet and in disorder, enter the door, and in perplexity and 
great emotion inquire for Trina from Funen, where Trina had 
not been during the last seven years. 

“ Who are you ? what do you want ? ” asked Hansen, who 
sat in his fustian working-jacket by the supper-table, and rose 
half up from his chair ; but Elizabeth did not answer him — 
she did not see him ; she had only eyes for Trina, who sat on 
the other chair, quite clean and neatly dressed. 

“ Trina ! yes, it is you ! ” cried Elizabeth. “ Do you not 
know me, little Elizabeth, who lived with the Baroness? You 
were so fond of me, told me stories, and sang songs for me. 
You gave me a book, and wrote in it, ‘ To my little Eliz- 


abeth.’ ” 


“ O gracious me ! ” cried Trina, “ who is she ? Hansen, 
who is that woman ? ” 

“What do you want?” said Hansen. “What is the 
matter ? ” 

“O Trina, do not drive me away,” said Elizabeth, so 
beseechingly, so downcast, and she stretched out both her 
hands towards her. “ It is surely you ! I think so ; I was, it 
is true, so little then; you went with me to Katrineson’s, 
where you gave me the song-book which you wrote in.” 

“ Jesus save us ! ” exclaimed Trina ; “ is that little Elizabeth ! 
But how did you come here? and” — She would have 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


192 

said, “ such a figure,” but she did not ; she looked at her 
from head to foot, at the bandeau., the long shawl, and her 
feet, that were soaking wet and muddy from the street. 

“ Let me stay with you till the Councilor comes home,” 
said Elizabeth ; “ don’t let me go to the widow lady : I am 
so afraid of every one, but not of you. You were so kind 
towards me ; I remember it, as I have not remembered it for 
a long time.” 

“Is it really you, Elizabeth?” said Trina, in a tone that 
had as much of doubt as confidence in it. “ I cannot rightly 
know you again, and yet I think it is you ! You are so 
grown ! — you are so ” — She stopped speaking, and looked 
doubtful, but with an expression of compassion. 

“ Let me speak ! ” said Hansen. “ It is a strange time for 
you to come here, young lady. My wife thinks as I do, and 
I think as my wife does. Will you tell us in a few words, 
what is the matter, and what you want with us ? ” 

“ I come from home — from the parsonage,” replied Eliz- 
abeth. “ We thought there was a person’s life at stake, and 
I was to go to the King, and so ” — She stopped. 

“ O my God ! ” said Trina ; “ I believe her ! — that face 
cannot lie ! — I believe her, strange as she looks, and strange- 
ly as she comes ! Sit down, my poor girl, and tell us all the 
story.” 

Elizabeth related the whole, and was questioned, and 
replied, and explained again and again. 

The account about Elimar, about the old grandparents’ 
grief, and lastly, her own determination to go to Copenhagen, 
affected Trina deeply. 

“ But, is it true what you tell us ? ” said Hansen ; “ is it 
not a made up story, Trina, she tells us ?” 

“ No, no,” said Trina, and clasped her round the neck ; 
“ it is true every word she says, poor girl ! — it is just like 
one in ‘ The Elves.’ I saw her as a little child, and now she 
comes again as a grown woman. But is the gentleman stand- 
ing outside yet ? — it is more than a quarter of an hour since 
you came. But, Hansen, do peep out and see, for he has at 
all events behaved very decently, though he is certainly an 
immoral person.” 


THE SHOEMAKERS CELLAR. 


^93 

More than three quarters of an hour had passed ; no one 
was to be seen outside, and then Elizabeth had to describe 
who the widow lady was, and where she lived. 

“ O Heaven ! is it she ? ” exclaimed Trina ; “ she is a reg- 
ular cheating Jezebel. She lives by writing begging-letters, 
and gets people to take lottery numbers for embroidered 
cushions, which they never get. I know the Miss also ! O 
poor girl, what hands have you got into ! So the gentleman 
was after all the honestest 1 Perhaps they have also deceived 
him, and I take my words back again, when I said he was an 
immoral person ! One can never trust to appearances.” 

In order to make ends meet better in their little household, 
Trina had again taken to the stage, as a chorus singer ; for, 
as she said, that profession was now highly respectable, and 
there were the most respectable persons’ children amongst 
them. Those who sing in the choruses have also to assist in 
the ballets. Trina had that evening been a peasant girl in 
“ The Festival in Albano ; ” and after changing her clothes 
had just returned home, where she now sat with her husband 
over their frugal evening meal. Elizabeth would have found 
them up even still later, for it was Hansen’s custom to read 
aloud every evening some piece from an historical work, such 
as “ Pontoppidan’s Atlas,” “ A Description of Copenhagen,” 
or an old Danish magazine ; for Hansen was, as Trina said, 
a man of education above his condition. This evening, how- 
ever, there was no reading ; there was so much to ask about, 
so much to hear. The clock struck twelve before they 
thought of making a bed on some chairs for Elizabeth. 

“Now sleep, in Heaven’s name,” said Trina. “I certainly 
did not think this morning when I got up that you would 
come here at night, and that I should hear such a story. The 
Lord, however, looks to us when we are in need ; ” and she 
kissed Elizabeth, and then Hansen, saying, “ He is a good 
man, an accomplished man, more so than any one believes ; 
and you will come to be fond of him, as I am.” 

Next morning, Elizabeth was awakened by the blows of the 
hammer on the wet leather which Hansen made pliable : 
everything in the workshop was so neatly arranged — twine, 
awls, lasts, and polishing stick. 

*3 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


194 

The books stood on shelves opposite the glass ball ; the 
canary-bird sang, and the coffee-can steamed. Elizabeth was 
to go at once to the widow lady, fetch her few things, and 
take leave there. 

“God preserve me! are you not ashamed of yourself?” 
said the lady, “ to be away a whole night ; where have you 
been? You have behaved yourself shockingly, as I hear 
from Miss Adelgunde ; nay, you cannot stay here — not an 
hour longer within my doors. Honor is what I look to above 
all. What would my deceased husband say if he could look 
out of his grave ? ” 

Elizabeth told her that she came to take leave, to thank 
her for the time she had stayed in her house, and that she 
had come to fetch her clothes and money. 

“ That is what I get for my good-nature,” said the lady ; 
“ ingratitude — that one may be at all times certain of. Well, 
take your clothes ; take what is yours ; but I will have what 
is mine. Hand over that shawl.” 

Elizabeth had it folded on her arm. 

“Wherever it has been, it smells of cellar air. You shall 
have what is yours, but I will have what is mine. Here lie 
five dollars, the least that I ought to have for three days’ 
board and lodging, and for all that I have done. Be so kind 
as to take your things ; and so each gets her own — here are 
your clothes. Adelgunde has told me everything ; that you 
ran away with the strange gentleman — you begin early on 
a bad road. Ungrateful I ” and then the widow lady cried, 
threw her cloak around her, and told Elizabeth that she might 
go, for there was neither time nor place for her to remain ; 
but the lady, however, called little Sanne in, that she might 
see what was likely to be the end of bad people, and be 
warned accordingly. 

And Sanne cried and wiped her face with her dirty hands, 
so that she was blacker than before, and looked as if she had 
played that noble game called “ Black Peter,” where he or 
she who loses the game is rubbed over the face with a burnt 
cork. 

Elizabeth then returned to Trina who had to be at the 
singing-school in the theatre during the whole forenoon at a 


THE SHOEMAKER'S CELLAR. 


195 

rehearsal j but she took the shoes with her that were to be 
bound. 

Norma’s priestess in Irmensule’s sacred forest, did not for- 
get shoemaker Hansen in Pink Street ( Nellikegaden ). 

That evening there was no performance, and Hansen read 
aloud from the Danish magazine. He read about Master 
Brockmann, King Christian II.’s secretar}^, who had studied 
in Germany in his youth, and had there become a magister^ or, 
as he was called, master. 

“ From that one can see,” said Hansen, who always made 
an edifying lecture on what he read, “ that master properly 
signifies magister^ and, therefore, that I , as master-shoema.ker, 
am magts ter-shoemaker.” 

He then related how many remarkable persons had sprung 
from his own trade, and he named the Jerusalem shoemaker, 
Pasquino in Rome, and that master-singer, Hans Sachs ; and 
at the conclusion of this speech there was a peculiar smile 
about his mouth ; it might be jesting with his own words, but 
it might likewise be a pleased self-satisfaction. Whatever it 
might be, it was snug, neat, and cosy in that little room ; and 
it was always “ instructive ” to hear Plansen, as Trina said. 
And her eyes beamed when she looked at her clever husband, 
whom she alone knew thoroughly ; and Elizabeth also lis- 
tened with devout attention. 

But now there was a knock at the door ; it was Hansen’s 
cousin, the diver, a true friend, who always visited them when 
he was in town. He had himself invented his own appa- 
ratus ; and he, too, could talk about his workshop, the deep 
and wonderful sea. 

Well, this person’s entrance caused a stop to be put to the 
reading, but then they talked so much the more. The con- 
versation took a turn to the diver’s occupation and gains ; 
and Elizabeth listened still more earnestly than to the history 
of Master Brockmann, of Pasquino, and Hans Sachs. A new 
source of thought and inquiry that evening sprang up in her 
mind in the shoemaker’s homely room. 

“It was well that our cousin came,” said Trina; “for 
you learned from him that Mr. Heimerant came home this 
evening; therefore, the first thing in the morning you can 
seek his assistance and advice.” 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


196 

But this important news was almost forgotten on hearing 
the diver relate all about his pursuits, as coolly and straight- 
forwardly as Hansen might speak, about laying the strap over 
his knee and using his waxed thread. 

Elizabeth had seen the sea in ebb and flood ; it had once 
even approached her mouth to give her its death-kiss ; she 
knew it in its rage and calm, but never as the cousin spoke 
of it ; and she thought it was indeed wondrous clever to de- 
scend fathoms deep, and, with death hanging over one’s head, 
to wander about at the bottom of the sea without restraint. 
This must be much more clever than to sail over it. 

Long after the diver had left, and all were in bed, it 
seemed to Elizabeth as if she still heard him describe it. 
She dwelt upon his words, forgot her own fate, the visit she 
had to pay in the morning to Councilor Heimerant, and even 
Elimar glided from her thoughts. It was the fancy which, in 
its boundless power, began to elevate itself for the first time 
with change of place, and with the contrast of surrounding 
scenes. How strange ! was it not ? in the depths of the 
sea, — how strange to stand there like the diver, and exercise 
his calling in mud and slime up to the neck, liable to be 
inextricably caught by the iron crooks of the vessel, or 
squeezed in between the copper sheathing and the quay. 

“There I stand in the mud,” he had said, “and large 
water-snakes — some may call them eels — creep about me ! 
Fishes are so very inquisitive : the flounders run right against 
one ; the cod-fishes come in whole crowds, close round in 
a circle, and stare ! If I make the slightest movement, they 
are off like gun-shot, but come again directly and stand in 
shoals and stare. The crabs are the worst : the great crabs 
place themselves in a posture of defense ; nay, they will even 
engage with me. They look like great spiders, and are as 
large as a plate : they scratch and scrape, and the fat water- 
snakes lick themselves every now and then. I, myself, must 
certainly appear to them a strange crab ! I have a helmet 
over my head, to which belong two leather tubes, into which 
they continually pump air from the boat at the top of the 
water, down to me. It comes in two streams over my face, 
and keeps up a regular bubbling in the water round my neck. 


THE SHOEMAKER'S CELLAR. I 97 

It will go up, it will ascend; and, if they did not pump, it 
would soon be over with me. I have often thought of that. 
I throw off the leaden weights from my legs that hold me 
down, and then I come up to the surface with the swiftness 
of an arrow.” 

It was as if Elizabeth had heard one of Walter Scott’s 
novels. It ought surely to be written down, and a whole 
story made out of it so as to be printed — a story of the 
sea ; and she remembered the sunken places near Sylt and 
Amrom, the swimming islands she had seen driven up on the 
innkeeper’s land, when she, as a little girl, was carried away 
asleep in Mr. Petters’s wagon : she remembered the many 
sagas that Keike had related, and Elimar’s story about the 
phantom ship. A wondrously magnificent picture of the sea 
filled her thoughts, but as yet this, her first composition, was 
unknown to her. 

Here, in the shoemaker’s little workshop, in a Copenhagen 
cellar, a performance of boundless fancy was brought forth. 
She arranged what she had heard and seen ; it was like a 
beautiful dream. She felt as if she had a whole novel in 
imagination, but had not words for it ; just as she had no idea 
that this feeling could be rendered clear, could be strength- 
ened, and converted into a great and glorious picture. 

It was daybreak before Elizabeth slept. 

Councilor Heimerant had read the letter from Moritz the 
evening before, and was now, this morning, about to write 
letters in order to trace out Elizabeth, and get further partic- 
ulars relative to Elimar Leyson, when Trina and Elizabeth 
arrived. The old man received them with evident joy and 
compassion; his extremely good-natured disposition shone 
forth in his face and words ; and when he heard that it was 
clear the prisoner was not Elimar, the smile expanded over 
his whole face. It was, therefore, all right with respect to 
the letter that had afterwards reached the Commander and 
about which Moritz had informed him. 

All had turned out fortunate and well. 

“ And that is the little Elizabeth,” said he. Well, then, 
now I have you with me ; and I can write to-day and comfort 
them at home. You have frightened them terribly ; but you 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


198 

are a good girl, a blessed girl, and fgrtune has been better 
than reason.” 

Trina gave a concise account of the whole story, and it was 
soon decided that Elizabeth should remain with the Coun- 
cilor until an opportunity offered to send her home to the 
Halligers, for she must see a little of the town now that she 
was here. 

“ Yes,” said Trina, “ accept the offer. I would gladly keep 
you with me ; but it is better to be there than to sit with us 
in the cellar j and then think how much of the day I am at 
the theatre.” 

The Councilor read from Moritz’s communication what it 
contained concerning Elimar’s letter, namely, that he was to 
be married to a rich widow in America ; and the tears ran 
down Elizabeth’s cheeks and she sobbed aloud. 

“ It is only because she hears all this from home,” said 
Trina. 

Elizabeth had a pretty little chamber in the old gentleman’s 
house, looking out upon the large open yard, where the trees 
grew ; and the lofty spire of St. Saviour’s Church rose above 
the neighboring house, with its gilt railings around the spiral 
staircase on the outside, up to the image of the Saviour, 
which forms the pinnacle, looking over town and sea. 

Elizabeth was now, therefore, safe in port. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE baroness’s SALOON. 

T he same afternoon Councilor Heimerant proceeded 
on a business visit to the old Baroness from Funen. 
He had the previous year become her trustee and agent, as 
the former one was dead. 

“ The brigand is here ! ” said she ; “ he has of course been 
to see you. I am quite pleased with him, though he is not 
yet quite a free slave. Now, I shall soon have dabbled 
enough in the world, and he must then, as my daughter’s 
child, have the estate, for my daughter’s child he is — that 
cannot be denied. So he ought to know a little about the 
folks and animals he has to deal with before he gets the 
sway. We are now allied powers ; and that any two can very 
well be without loving each other.” 

The Councilor told her that Count Frederick intended to 
sell the pretty little property where his father had built a neat 
mansion for him, on the site where we saw a ruinous frame- 
work building, where Elizabeth was born, and where the 
friends passed her birth-night during storm and rain. Count 
Frederick, after the death of his father, had removed to the 
family seat, so that the little newly-built mansion, so com- 
fortable and pretty, had stood empty above two years. Fred- 
erick, as we have said, wished to sell it, and Baron Herman 
had a great desire to be the purchaser, and pursue agriculture 
there. 

“ Yes, he knows well enough what he would like,” said the 
old lady ; “ and you didn’t bite his ear, eh, when you gave 
him that advice ? But I shall not do it, because he will have 
it, and then make a jumble of the story. I have thought 
of it before myself, or else I would not have made it. But 
I say that a wife shall be there; I will not have any hack- 


200 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


elorism ; you see that I have made that word myself, and it 
is a very good one ; a man must be honest and decent. He 
shall have the estate, but he must procure a wife, and not one 
who resembles the Countess Clara ; he had better take her 
from the milk-pail than from the court calendar ! ” and the 
old lady laughed her strange ringing laugh, and threw her 
head back in her own peculiar manner. 

She was evidently in good humor: the Councilor there- 
fore thought he could tell her the events of that morning — 
how little Elizabeth had come to him, what letters he had got, 
in short the whole circumstances. He began with his story, 
and she started, but it was not quite a natural start, for Trina 
had been there a few hours before, and related the whole, 
from first to last, to Madame Krone, who had again related 
it to the Baroness in her own way. And Trina was called a 
gossip, but she nevertheless had coffee and sugar given to her 
for a whole month. Now, on the contrary, when the Coun- 
cilor commenced, the old lady laid her finger on her mouth ; 
she would hear nothing. 

“ I don’t know that ’Lizabeth,” said she ; “ I will not know 
her, and I can invent stories for myself. If, however, you 
have a foster-daughter, a little young lady, or Miss, who would 
see a little of the world amongst company, she is welcome with 
you ; but she is your Miss ; I don’t acknowledge her. She 
comes as yours ; bring her with you on Monday, when there 
will be a great chuck-farthing of all coins, of silver and cop- 
per. There will also be counters.” 

“ And what sort of coin am I ? ” asked Heimerant, laugh- 
ing. 

“ One from the coin cabinet,” said the lady ; “ one of those 
there are not two of, and therefore we must not lose sight of 
you,” and she nodded and laughed, as she called out to him 
in the door-way, “ Don’t De so good-natured. Councilor ; wean 
yourself of it. Good-nature is like corns ; if persons observe 
one has them, we may be sure of having our feet trodden on 
every moment.” 

Next day Madame Krone went to Christianshaven to see 
Elizabeth, who immediately interested her with her intelligent 
face and natural manners. The Councilor was quite im- 


THE BARONESS’S SALOON. 


201 


pressed witk the singularly vivid manner in which Elizabeth 
could relate things. She had told him the evening before so 
much about the Halligers, Fohr, and Amrom, that he imagined 
he had been there ; no book, no verbal description, had ever 
before given him such a clear representation. Elizabeth her- 
self did not know her own powers ; her eye had unconsciously 
conceived the most characteristic traits, and the living words 
came forth in all their simplicity. 

In the evening she sat down to the piano. The Councilor 
requested her to let him hear a little song, for he knew that 
she had learned all the songs Caroline had once sung, and she 
began in a low voice with “Roslein Roth,” but by degrees 
her voice rose clearer, and yet it was so melodious, so soft, so 
touching ! Elizabeth thought of home, where she had sung it, 
thought of Elimar, who was now married, and would never 
more return to Europe, and a trembling, a sound as from the 
heart, came into the melody. Tears ran down the cheeks of 
old Heimerant, for he thought he heard his own dear lost child 
— his blessed Caroline. He went up to Elizabeth, and kissed 
her as he would have kissed Caroline, and said, “ You will 
not leave me so soon ! Now, remain here this winter, my dear 
child ! ” 

On the Monday evening there was to be a great chuck-far- 
thing, as the Baroness called it: the Councilor would take 
Elizabeth with him ; she might, however, have looked rather 
strange, as far as concerned her dress, if she, whom the world 
called “ the mad woman,” had not thought a little about such 
matters. 

Monday morning came, and with it a large parcel for Eliza- 
beth ; a morning greeting from an unknown, in which there 
was the finest linen, — upper and under clothes, — and what 
was another “ god-send,” a black silk gown, which fitted as if 
she had been measured for it. This was from the Baroness, 
who knew well that the Councilor, however practical he might 
be in other things, would not think of such necessaries, and 
that Elizabeth would hardly venture to speak of them. The 
carriage came rather late : they would not be amongst those 
who arrived first. The stairs and anterooms were brilliantly 
illuminated, but the room they passed into was, on the con- 
trary, quite dark, and filled with company. 


202 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


“ Take care not to fall over a privy councilor, or a student, 
for he may also become a privy councilor ! ” said the Barom 
ess. “ We are playing at Christmas Eve : I don’t like to 
have my Christmas-tree with others, and so I have made mine 
ready this evening. I prefer to be a couple of months in ad- 
vance, like the German New-year’s gifts, which are old when 
New-year comes.” 

Elizabeth’s heart beat with fear on hearing this voice ; it 
seemed to her as if it were yesterday she heard her cry : “ I 
can believe all that is bad of you ! out of my house you shall 
pack ! ” Those words, screamed out in the mysterious cham- 
ber, were awakened to life again. Elizabeth clung fast to the 
Councilor. 

All kinds of persons were assembled : it was a miniature 
picture of Copenhagen. Here sat a decent couple belonging to 
the government-office class, whose knowledge of literature was 
confined to the “ Daily Advertiser ” and the “ Corsair.” ^ There 
stood a member of several learned societies, of that kind 
which are established in order to give persons a name who 
would otherwise have none at all. Here a young man of the 
world’s nobility — that to which the potter’s son, Themistocles, 
belonged, and amongst us Danes, the tailor’s apprentice, Tor- 
denskjold, and the dock-yard man’s son, Albert Thorvaldsen. 
Here sat liberals, who would be tyrants, and here tyrants who 
were not yet ripe ; persons who had too little an opinion of 
themselves, and persons who had too great ; in short here was 
a motley company. 

The Baroness said very justly, “My house is like the 
“ General Advertiser,” all sorts of decent persons enter it, 
both those who seek a place, and those who give one.” 

At this moment they all sat, as we have said, in the dark, 
either waiting for more guests, or because the forthcoming ar- 
rangements in the saloon were not yet completed. 

“ There is surely somebody here who can play a little on the 
piano for us,” said the old lady ; “ one that can do so without 
being stared at.” 

No one answered and a pause ensued. 

“ Then I suppose I must. Grandmother,” said a gentlemanly 
^ The Copenhagen Punch or Charivari. 


THE BARONESSE SALOON, 


203 

voice, which sounded to Elizabeth as if it were not strange to 
her. The blood rose to her cheeks ; who could he be ? He 
sang boldly and with animation : it was the Neapolitan taren- 
tella to Italian words. 

“ Bravo ! ” cried the old lady. 

“ Bravo ! ” resounded on all sides when the song was ended ; 
and a new one succeeded, and again a new one — Italian and 
Spanish. There was a life and resonance that carried tlie 
listeners along with them. There was then a short pause, 
during which two more strangers came. 

“What Nicodemus is that who comes now?” asked the old 
lady. 

“It is we. Baroness,” said Clara, who entered with her hus- 
band, Count Frederick. “ Nay, how dark it is here ! ” 

“Yes, I am malicious,” said the Baroness. No one can 
see how handsome you are, my dear, nor how elegantly you 
are dressed. When one comes late at night, then the can- 
dles are burnt out. But now Madame Krone shall let the 
sun rise.” 

She laughed aloud, and the folding-doors to the saloon 
opened ; three fine, large, richly decorated Christmas-trees 
stood in the middle of the saloon ; candles of all colors burnt 
between the branches, and the most comical pasteboard figures 
peeped forth from the green branches, which were loaded with 
golden apples and grapes. At the foot of the trees was a 
border of the most beautiful flowers in pots, but the pots were 
not to be seen, for they were covered with fresh moss, on which 
were artificial glow-worms, whole flocks of lady-birds, and a 
couple of frogs, that leaped about when any one touched them, 
for they contained a piece of mechanism. Everything was very 
well and pleasantly arranged. But Elizabeth was surprised 
only for a moment by the new and varied entertainment she 
saw before her. Adelgunde’s sweetheart, that fine, richly 
dressed gentleman, stood there, in the middle of the saloon, 
and regarded her with surprise and astonishment. He laid 
his hand on his neighbor’s shoulder, who turned to him. The 
neighbor she now saw was he who had accompanied her to 
Trina’s door that terrible evening. It was as if the whole 
room turned round — as if the lights and colors flowed into 
one another. 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


204 

The two gentlemen were Barons Holger and Herman. 

‘‘ Who is that young girl there ? ” they inquired of Madame 
Krone. 

“ What ! you do not know her, then ? ” answered she with a 
smile, — an answer in which their consciences saw a meaning 
which that honest woman, of course, could not have dreamed 
of ; her thoughts were, “ It is your own foundling from 
Funen ! ” and she continued : “ Have you forgotten your ad- 
venture ? ” 

Herman blushed and looked at Holger. 

“Is it to be -a surprise ? ” whispered the latter. 

Madame Krone was now busily occupied with the company, 
in causing each to draw a number for the Christmas-prizes, 
and with each of these followed what the Baroness called an 
“ after-game,” which was the most polite, and which involved 
a gift she herself presented to the prize-holder, and which she 
had previously appropriated to each. Count Frederick got a 
volume of “ The Danish Provincial States’ Gazette ; ” Clara, 
on the contrary, a large box, in which lay pieces of bricks in 
different partitions, and on each was pasted an inscription 
stating where they came from ; there were Nineveh, Babylon, 
Carthage, Thebes, etc. 

Clara was quite transported. “ And I am to have all these 
treasures ? ” she exclaimed. “ Where did you get them 
from ? ” 

“From my old cow-stall,” answered the old lady, with the 
kindest face imaginable. “ The names are correct ; I have 
copied them myself from my geography — a book which I 
derive the greatest benefit from ! ” 

“ Then the whole is false,” cried Clara. 

“Only imagine they are genuine, and then they are so,” 
said the Baroness. 

All that belonged to the “ after-game ” was of this kind. 

Holger and Herman soon learned who Elizabeth w'as, and 
Herman, who had been partly informed by herself, understood 
the story soonest. 

“ It was that child ! ” thought he, — “ that child we promised 
to be fathers and protectors to.” 

A serious feeling passed through his mind : he felt satisfao 


THE BARONESS'S SALOON. 


205 

tion at his conduct on that night. “ Thanks to God who has 
protected her and me. I have not courage to speak to her ! ” 

“ Then I have,” said Holger, and went boldly up to the 
Councilor, whom “ he was extremely glad to see ; the young 
lady had certainly drawn a lucky number,” said he, and asked 
what she had got ; if it were the first time she had been in 
Copenhagen ? if she had been at many balls here already ? 
what pieces she had seen at the theatre ? in short, the usual 
talk on such occasions was gone through. Holger spoke so 
freely that Elizabeth almost began to doubt her own senses. 

Herman, on the contrary, did not approach until the Coun- 
cilor took leave, when he said a few words to him, and made 
a very polite bow to Elizabeth. 

What an evening ! The remembrance of the secret cham- 
ber had never been so vividly present in her thoughts as this 
first visit in the saloon world. The entrance into the presence 
of the old Baroness ; the meeting here with the two men con- 
nected with the most terrible evening in her life; all this 
caused her to tremble in every limb until she was in the car- 
riage. 

“ That was rather too much for once ! ” said the Councilor , 
“ but you have now seen the show.” 

Elizabeth did not answer ; there was a conflict in her mind. 
Should she, if she could, say to the Councilor, I have seen 
those two men before ; the one who stood so strangely, that he 
did not say a w’ord to me, was my companion, my protector.” 
There came a bashfulness over her j an indistinct notion that 
it could not be told ; she wanted words — and who were those 
two men ? 

“ Surely you are ill, my dear child, are you not ” inquired 
the Councilor. 

“ O no, only tired, very tired,” she whispered. 

“ Yes, you see you knew no one but Madame Krone ; but 
now I shall tell you the most remarkable persons who were 
there ; ” and the old man told her about them all j but not 
about Herman. He did not even say who he was, for he 
thought it wa*s clear enough ; he had besides been called 
grandson! Whilst he related these particulars, they drove 
home and the rain poured down. It was just such an evening 


206 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


as when Herman accompanied Elizabeth to the shoemaker’s 
cellar. 

The rain beat against the carriage windows, and the lamps 
burnt miserably : but amidst the gloom, in the wind and rain, 
the watchman chanted, “ ’Twas in the midnight hour, a Sa- 
viour was born 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


HERMAN AND ELIZABETH. 

W E have not seen or heard anything of Herman, from 
the time of Count Frederick’s marriage with Clara, 
when he left Copenhagen, until we, together with Elizabeth, 
met him at Holger’s. Nine years have elapsed, -- nine years 
passed in foreign countries, where nature, art, and the world’s 
busy life had been his preceptors ; and it must be acknowl- 
edged that, however high one may place the learning of the 
schools, and all knowledge acquired by diligence and diffi- 
culties, yet life bestows more. He was not transformed, but 
developed ; he had gained a clear view of himself and of the 
world. By seeing foreign lands he had been brought to value 
his own father-land, to acknowledge its best points, and to 
become a patriot without warring against the rights of others. 

We shall soon renew our old acquaintanceship in Coun- 
cilor Heimerant’s parlor. 

From Trina’s door, where we left him that memorable 
evening, he did not return to Holger and Adelgunde, but to 
the hotel where he stayed. Elizabeth’s terror, desertion, and 
innocent faith in God, occupied his thoughts. “That poor 
girl ! how had she been received in the cellar ? how had she 
got on afterwards ? ” The day following, he went through 
the street, half inclined to call at the shoemaker’s, but he did 
not. His interest in her was, however, awakened, and it be- 
came more so after the meeting in his grandmother’s saloon, 
where he learned that she was his and his friend’s foundling. 
There, in that great circle, it was impossible for him to speak 
to her ; but speak he would, and therefore he set out next 
morning to the Councilor’s. It was on business, and from 
that he passed, in a half-jesting tone, to his adventure in 
Funen, and his share in “little Elizabeth,” but the meeting at 
Holger’s was not touched upon. 


2o8 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


“ I know, from Madame Krone,'’ said he, “ that it is quite 
in a romantic way this young girl has come to town ; I am 
afraid she is rather nervously sensitive, and that she has not 
from our good friend, Moritz Nemmesen, whom you know 
better than I. He is of a good, healthy nature.” 

“ And so is she too,” replied the Councilor ; “ it is entirely 
from innocence and the kindest heart that she made this 
strange flight forth into the world.” 

And the old man spoke so warmly and well of her ; and 
also said what a pretty voice she had, and what a singularly 
endowed girl she was. 

Herman stayed there to dinner. He stayed until the 
evening ; but during all this 'time Elizabeth did not speak 
much ; but she received him gladly and naturally, pressed, 
his hand and looked at him with her intelligent, honest eyes, 
which shone with gratitude and confidence. She listened to 
his narrations — and he related much — with a lively atten- 
tion, that several times brought a blush into her face. The 
Councilor knew little of Herman’s life abroad, and he wished 
very much to hear it, and about foreign lands. Of these it 
was Italy and England that particularly engaged Herman’s 
attention. The Baron spoke with enthusiasm of Rome and 
London, the cities of all cities, as he called them, so different 
and yet so alike, from the very force of contrast. Rome was 
night, the great, glorious night, rich and elevating to thought 
and fancy. London was day, the busy, active day, which 
carries all along with it to life and action ; but it was Rome 
that Herman had first seen, it was there he had lived longest, 
and passed through his mental development. We shall only 
hear what he tells us from there, or else the evening’s con- 
versation would fill up a whole volume. The world’s city, 
Rome, had at once made on him, as on most strangers, a 
deep impression. It was a city to learn and to live in, so that 
he had become domesticated there. 

“ There is an indescribable charm in that air, in that soil,” 
said he ; “ would that I could unfold Rome to you, unfold it 
with its palaces, churches, and ruins, and give you an idea 
of social life with the great artists. Their naturalness and 
humor had the best effect on me; the varied manners and 


HERMAN AND ELIZABETH. 


209 

customs of the people filled my mind and gave me occupa- 
tion. In Denmark I had, as a young student, a talent for 
catching and depicting whims and vagaries. My stay in Italy 
elevated this quality to a conception of the characteristic ; my 
mind’s e} e was sharpened to a sense of the poetical and pic- 
turesque in every-day life, so that I at last actually fancied 
myself another Pignelle.” 

“ And yet you gave up being a painter ? ” said the Coun- 
cilor. 

“Yes, after the first year I laid aside the pencil and took to 
the model-stick. I had brought myself to acknowledge that 
sculpture stood yet one step higher than painting. The sculp- 
tor is, more than the painter, obliged to restrain his ideas, to 
simplify his thoughts, and to approach as near as possible to 
nature ; which is, however, our ideal. I studied the antiques 
in Rome, and the bronzes in Naples so long, that I came to 
the conviction that I had not genius to produce anything sim- 
ilar. This is a bitter acknowledgment for the young to 
make ; but this bitterness gives health to the soul. It is also 
something to comprehend what is beautiful in the world — to 
be able to understand it. The third year I was in Rome 
I had advanced just so far in my judgment of myself.” 

To all that Herman related he had not a more attentive 
listener than Elizabeth ; but she listened silently and with 
interest. It was only when he spoke of life in the mountains 
that she ventured a question — the usual one put by the 
stranger in the North — an inquiry about the brigands; and 
it was this, or perhaps it was on hearing the first words from 
the young girl’s lips, that caused a slight blush to appear on 
Herman’s cheeks. He repeated the word “brigands,” and 
he almost started, but continued, saying that he had in fact 
seen but one brigand, and that was when the man was taken 
to the place of execution. 

“ He was not young, but still handsome and vigorous. He 
had, it was said, committed ravages for many years in the 
Sabine mountains, and it was also said that much money had 
been paid to him, at different times, as ransoms for impris- 
oned ladies. I saw him driven to the place of execution. 
He was bound with his back to the car, and was drawn by 

14 


210 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


two white oxen ; it was if he were driving to a festival. He 
sat quite dignified but smiling, and was dressed in black vel- 
vet clothes with silver buttons on his jacket ; a carnation was 
stuck in his button-hole, and ribbons were fluttering from his 
hat. Yes, everything is picturesque in that country ! — and 
Herman paused for a moment. He did not communicate 
the thought which made him shudder on seeing the robber — 
the thought that was awakened in him when he saw this man. 
If we had heard what his grandmother once whispered in his 
ear, when he visited her in Funen, when Elizabeth, then an 
infant, slept in the chamber close by, we should have under- 
stood him. 

“It has been a rare and agreeable evening ! ” said Heim- 
erant, after Herman had taken leave near midnight. I 
could sit and listen to him much longer yet : I hope he will 
soon come again.” 

“ What a world this is ! ” exclaimed Elizabeth, and her 
eyes sparkled. She had no other words to express her sense 
of the new information that had been conveyed to her. Her- 
man’s relations had opened up a new world to her The 
spirit which had selected and enlightened them, filled her with 
admiration. At home in the Halligers, she had heard the 
Scotchman tell about his mountains, about Abbotsford and 
Walter Scott, and then her thoughts were filled with images. 
The novels of Walter Scott were now still more united with 
the reality in which she lived ; but yet Knox had not spoken 
like Baron Herman, who was just as noble and good as he 
was wise and gifted. She remembered every word he had 
said that evening. He had compassionately and honestly 
accompanied her in the rain and storm. A thousand thoughts 
passed through her brain : she sat long by the bedside in her 
little chamber before she could go to rest, and if she did 
not say like Heimerant, “ I hope he will soon come again,” 
she meant it. 

And Herman came again — was a constant guest. And 
“ it was kind of him ! ” said the Councilor, for we cannot 
amuse him ! Yet he likes your singing, I have observed. 
You also sing prettier and prettier ; it is as if I heard Caro- 
line again; and he knew her: she was very fond of him. 


HERMAN AND ELIZABETH, 


21 I 


and was much grieved, in her way, when he went on his 
travels.” 

It soon appeared to Elizabeth as if she had been in all the 
places Herman spoke of. She saw them in imagination, and 
thought and said that Denmark, Copenhagen, and all here 
must appear to him quite poor and insignificant. 

“ Do not think so,” answered Herman ; “ by travelling in 
foreign lands, and seeing what the world calls the greatest 
and best, a man gets rid of the illusion of perfectibility ; his 
eyes are thoroughly opened, and it is then that the love of his 
country becomes stronger. We feel that we have taken root 
in the home soil, and we learn to value what we have our- 
selves. I know nothing that contains within itself a picture 
of Italy more than a Sicilian cloister garden. There is a 
peculiarly luxurious feeling in stretching oneself in one, on 
a very hot day, in the shady but open colonnade, where the 
walls are painted with sacred pictures ; to look from there 
under the palm-trees, and between the tall poplar-like 
cypresses, and to see the fountains splash in the marble 
basin. One fancies oneself placed in the land of romance ; 
and it was just there that a natural beauty came into my 
memory, which Denmark has in preference to any other 
country, and which is just as lovely to us, with our green 
islands^' as a Sicilian cloister garden is to Italy — it is our 
beech-woods ! Where is there a cloister garden that invites 
to greater tranquillity, to greater peace, than they do in their 
extended greatness, with their depending and fragrant 
branches ? Verdure in the South is not more exuberant ! 
Remember our tall mighty beeches, where thousands of small 
shoots germinate all the way up the trunk, as if the bark 
could not retain that effulgence of foliage which forces itself 
towards the top, and there shoots out in a living roof of 
leaves. Remember the fresh grassy carpet below, with wood- 
ruffs, anemones, and violets, which the sun here and there 
illumines ! The delight which the swan feels on diving into 
the fresh clear sea, I have felt to excess, by diving, as it were, 
into the Danish beech-woods. They compose a gorgeous 
prodigality of nature, that may compare with all that the 
South possesses ! Even their perishable beauty, the falling 


212 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


of the leaf, and winter-time are but new revelations. Remem- 
ber the woods in a rime frost ; the endless shades of color 
they present, the splendor every tree, every branch, puts forth 
in the sunlight ! ” 

“ Yes, yes,” answered Elizabeth, and she embraced with all 
the force of her imagination the Danish beech-woods, as she 
had preserved them in her memory. 

“ And besides the woods, we have the sea,” continued Her- 
man ; “ if not that silk-like, transparent Mediterranean, yet 
the living water, that ever-changing sea ! When I sailed up the 
Thames, the commercial world’s great high-road, for the first 
time, every eye on the vessel was overwhelmed with the sight 
of those hosts of vessels. One could see and understand that 
England is the queen of the sea j fishing-boats in full sail 
drove on by hundreds, like swans in flocks ; then sped past 
vessel after vessel. One became tired of counting them ; 
steamer followed steamer all around me were astonished ; — 
enchanted ; I alone was not astonished, I had seen some- 
thing similar in Denmark ; had seen it at different times in the 
Sound, near Elsinore — certainly the only place where a similar 
sight presents itself, and that too for a moment when a Rus- 
sian fleet passes Cronborg, and merchant-ships by hundreds 
scud along under full sail.” 

“ What good it does one to hear this ! ” said Heimerant, in- 
wardly proud. “Yes, our little land is a blessed land; one 
does not know it oneself. Elizabeth has told me about Oland 
and Amrom, about those islands near Sleswick, and it was as 
if I heard her tell about lands in other parts of the world ; for 
she can tell a good story very well.” 

Herman looked with inexpressible mildness at Elizabeth, 
who blushed at the value the old man set on her powers of 
description. 

“ It is wild and bare in that part,” continued Heimerant ; 
“and so it is also on the Jutland heaths, for those I have 
seen.” 

“ I have not yet seen them,” said Herman ; “ but an en- 
thusiastic Scotchman told me that they were as if cut out of 
his native land. He had on the Jutland heaths found the so- 
lemnity and solitude of his ’home, where the damp fogs are 


HERMAN AND ELIZABETH. 


213 

driven by the blast over the dark-brown heathy hills. He 
showed me two flowering heath branches, between the leaves 
of a book. One was from ‘ Ben Lomond,’ in Scotland, Rob 
Roy’s land ; the other was from Viborg, in Jutland ; and these 
flowering heath branches were not to be distinguished from 
each other — they looked as if they had shot up from the same 
root. The resemblance between the flowers was also in their 
soil.” 

On mentioning Scotland, and Rob Roy’s land, Elizabeth 
was reminded of her favorite poet, and in their admiration of 
his works all were agreed ; but because Walter Scott never 
laid his scenes in our days, she expressed her opinion that our 
times had no poetry in them. Herman asserted the contrary. 

“ It would otherwise,” said he, “ be a grievous thing for 
future poets. I regard even the events of our times as offer- 
ing the richest gold mines for poetry. Has not even our 
little Denmark, where everything appears to go on in its quiet 
course, a whole series of events for poetic treatment ? Here 
we have the stay of the Spaniards in Denmark in 1808. 
Imagine the southern life that discloses itself in our Danish 
nature ; here we have Catholic church service performed in the 
open fields near a tumulus ; Spanish dances amongst hazel- 
bushes and willows ; the night quarters under ammunition 
wagons, and cannons in the small streets of provincial towns \ 
the marches and flight. We will go back to 1801, and see the 
battle in the roads ; the burning ships, our cannon boats, and 
the hero of Aboukir and Trafalgar. But you will not go back ; 
you will come nearer to our time than 1801 and 1808 } Well 
then, in our own days we have Thorvaldsen’s arrival, the 
national exultation, the whole people’s festivity.” 

It was such conversations, such hours, that shed their sunny 
warmth over every slumbering seed in Elizabeth’s soul. The 
visits to the theatre had a similar effect and these were two 
weekly ; for the old Baroness had a box twice a week, where 
she had given Elizabeth a seat, that, as the Baroness expressed 
herself, “ she might, like the grocer’s boy, get plenty of the 
prunes when the drawer stood open every day.” Many an 
opera-glass, and many a smiling face were turned towards the 
box between the acts, and the young girl was soon observed, 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


214 

who had now been taken into “ the mad-house,” as some per- 
sons called the Baroness’s box; and yet there was a little 
more wisdom in it than in most of the other boxes, although 
the geography had of late never been seen there, as Madame 
Krone was tired of dragging that great book with her, “ which 
they now knew by heart.” 

Elizabeth saw every performance with devout admiration, 
and expressed her opinion of each, when at home, to the 
Councilor and Herman, and her judgment was sound, be- 
cause it was natural. Copenhagen was a dangerous city, the 
greatest, — the only great one she knew. “ Here is so much 
for thought,” said she ; “ one becomes wiser ; one learns 
quickly, more than on our quiet Oland ; yet there also it was 
good. There it was otherwise; every one knew each other; 
one thought more of ” — she stopped, as if perplexed to ex- 
press her thoughts, but began again with a peculiarly mild ex- 
pression, as if to soften the words, — “ one thought more 
there of the Almighty ! I believe that persons here in Copen- 
hagen are as religious at heart as those over there ; but they 
have not time here to practice it, on account of the bustle and 
business. I miss — nay, 1 know not, but I was so accus- 
tomed to it; every day at dinner there was a prayer said. 
God came there more into the words and speech. Here I 
only hear him named on Sundays in the church.” 

Herman was a witness of her happiness on receiving the 
first letters from home. She laughed and cried by turns, and 
spoke of her arrivalat home as if it were to be the very next 
day — there was so much she had to tell them. But the day 
of her arrival at home was far distant ; Heimerant had said 
that she should first see the woods put forth their leaves. It 
was impossible to be otherwise than fond of her ; she won all 
hearts ; even Clara paid her attention, and invited her to her 
brilliant circle, where, at Clara’s instigation and “ amiable com- 
mand,” she was induced to sing a few of her simple songs. 
All were enchanted. Herman alone was not — he was still 
and serious, as if dissatisfied. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


KING FREDERICK THE SIXTH. 

O ctober and November had passed away with parties 
and theatricals : Christmas was about to come with all 
its joys and pleasures, when all was suddenly wrapped in 
gloom. It was rumored that King Frederick VI. was ill, yet 
he was not confined to his bed, and every morning gave audi- 
ences in full uniform, but on the last two occasions he had 
looked like a dead man ; his usually erect figure was bent, 
and he had supported himself by the table with evident ex- 
ertion. Early on the morning of the third of December, 1839, 
this news was spread like wild-fire through the city : “ The king 
is dead ! All the gates of the city were closed, in obedience 
to an old custom, whilst the troops were taking the oath of 
allegiance to the new monarch. From the balcony of the 
palace at Amalienborg it was proclaimed, “ Frederick VI. is 
dead ! — long live Christian VIII. ! ” — and all the church- 
bells rang. 

A long reign was ended : a whole generation had grown up 
under it. There had been something patriarchal between the 
King and the people. The multitude looked upon his acts 
with submissive reverence : the royal purple concealed every 
human weakness. It was a great event for Denmark. There 
was sadness amongst the people ; all, even menial servants, 
clothed themselves in mourning ; effusions of genuine loyalty 
were published in prose and verse. Frederick VI., himself a 
stranger to poetry, had passages in his life of which the poet 
might have availed himself. It was in his labors for the op- 
pressed Danish peasants that the King’s good and generous 
heart particularly shone forth. That praise resounded in all 
the funeral songs ; it arose from the heart of the Danish peas- 
ants, who prayed that they might bear his corpse, sixteen long 
miles, from Copenhagen to Roeskilde Cathedral. 


2i6 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


It was the lately deceased King’s affection for the peasant, 
his noble humanity, that touched the deepest string in the old 
Baroness’s heart ; she was singularly affected. At every con- 
cession to the claims of the peasants, her heart had grown 
more devoted to King Frederick. She placed his bust upon 
her table, and arranged the loveliest flowers around it ; with 
her eyes steadily fixed on it, her hands folded on her lap, she 
sat, and in this position Herman found her. 

A brave man has died this day I ” said she. “ Now the 
age to which I belonged has run out ! They all leave us ; 
but there will be an end of all.” And she sat still and af- 
flicted. 

Herman spoke of the King’s last hours, of what they knew 
he had said when the coldness of death chilled him : “ It is 
cold ! — we must think of wood for the poor ! ” 

“ Yes, he thought of the poor man,” said the old lady ; “ he 
understood the meaning of hard times ; he himself had ex- 
perienced hard days, experienced them as a child, and as a 
grown man. You, surely, know something about it, Herman, 
but you do not know it so well as I do. They made his father 
believe that the sun and moon stood still ; his mother was 
taken as a prisoner out of the country ! Poor Matilda ! — she 
knew not the customs of the country ; she was so young and 
so alone ! — King Frederick had a beautiful bride ! I remem- 
ber her entry into the city : eight splendid white horses drew 
the gilded state-carriage. I saw it — how his fine blue eyes 
shone — now they are closed ! How mild and beautiful was 
Maria Sophia Frederikha ! She now sits in her palace in 
widow’s weeds. We may speak plainly of him now that he is 
ill his coffin. He caused us to lose Norway : he would have 
his own will, and thought that the first man in the country 
had also the most knowledge. But I am not going to write 
his history. I would speak only of his heart ; I would speak 
of that for which the country must bless him. He thought of 
the poor man ; he was generous towards the peasant. I have 
lived too. I remember other days, when the honest man was 
put into the dog’s-hole ; when good conduct rode on the 
wooden horse, and an innocent child was beaten with the 
squire’s whip ! ” The old lady stopped, bit her lips, and the 
color mounted into her cheeks. 


KING FREDERICK THE SIXTH. 21 7 

“ But that time is passed. The peasant lives like a decent 
man ; sits by the squire’s side, and has a word to say with the 
others in Roeskilde.^ I have seen good days ; I will forget 
the bad, and forgive the wicked. However, Herman, I shall 
give you something that will remind you of this day, and of 
what I have said to you. You shall have the new manor. 
Count Frederick will sell it, though I don’t think you have 
learned to be a farmer ; but there are others that understand 
it, and so you can avail yourself of their skill ; but only let 
alone dabbling with the ground yourself until you understand 
it. The poor man can teach you something. Remember that, 
when I am on my journey after King Frederick.” 

Everything in Copenhagen wore a deathlike stillness ; all 
music was mute : crape hung from the instruments and flags. 
People went in crowds to Amalienborg to see King Fred- 
erick VI. on lit de parade., as it is still called, from old times, 
when they ornamented the language with foreign words. Ten 
days had passed since his death. People of all classes went 
to see the deceased once more : in the forenoon, the different 
ranks of civil and military ; in the afternoon the mixed multi- 
tude, and there was then a terrible crowding and crushing. 
The streets were lined with hussars and policemen to keep 
order. 

The Baroness would also see King Frederick once more , 
but Madame Krone, who feared that it would shock the old 
lady, opposed it in the most determined manner. 

“ It is not the King that lies there,” said she ; “ it is rather 
like a doll. They have embalmed him, enameled him white, 
and dressed him out ; remember his living, friendly face ; that 
is better — you shall not have my permission to see him.” 

“ Well, my dear,” said the old lady ; “ then I must leave it 
alone, and we will not quarrel. ‘ Peace at home is good,’ 
said the man when he beat his wife.” 

But it was destined to be otherwise than Madame Krone 
and the old lady had determined. 

They dined that day at Councilor Heimerant’s, where they 
spoke about the many beautiful verses on the occasion of the 
King’s death. Ingemann’s poem, beginning : — 

1 In the provincial parliament. 


2i8 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


“ On his death-bed pale King Frederick lies ; 

E’en from his cradle his pillow was hard ; ” 

composed to the air of “ Queen Dagmar’s song,” could be 
sung, and Elizabeth sang it. It was the first time the old 
lady had heard her sing ; she had seemed not to care to hear 
her. Every word was pronounced distinctly, and executed 
with simplicity and feeling : her voice was so soft and touch- 
ing ! Tears came into the eyes of the old Baroness ; she 
kissed Elizabeth, begged her to sing it again, and requested 
that she would accompany them home to get a fine present, 
drink tea with her, and then sing it once more. 

They were all three soon in the carriage. It was a dark 
evening ; just at the time when the doors to the Knights^ 
Saloon, where the King lay, were to be closed, and people 
issued thence in crowds. 

‘‘ Should we not drive round about by the street home ? ” 
said Madame Krone ; “ then Elizabeth can see the illumina- 
tion, for the torches are scarcely put out yet.” 

And the coachman had orders to drive that little way 
round ; but he had scarcely got through a great crowd and 
into the street, where he was driving quickly past the row of 
carriages that were still waiting, before a policeman shouted 
to him, “ Into the rank ! ” 

The Saloon was not yet closed, and a great number ex- 
pected to gain admission. 

“ Will you keep in the rank ? ” shouted the police. 

The coachman began to explain that he was to drive home 
with his company. 

“No nonsense ! ” said the police. They did not under- 
stand what he said, and so — “ no nonsense ! ” into the rank 
he was obliged to go. 

“ What is the matter ? ” they inquired of each other in the 
carriage, which now went slowly on, then stopped, drove on 
again, stopped, and again drove on. It was not possible for 
the coachman to escape ; every time he attempted to get out 
of the rank, there came a policeman or a hussar, who threat- 
ened and shouted. At length they stopped under the colon- 
nade, and the carriage-door was opened. 

“ Make haste ! ” said the man who let down the steps ; “it 
is much past the time, and there are several carriages yet.” 


KING FREDERICK THE SIXTH. 2ig 

“We shall not go up at all,” said Madame Krone, who sat 
nearest the door. 

“ You have certainly not driven here without intending to 
go up,” said the policeman ; “ make haste ” — and he drew 
her out. 

“ Quick, quick ! ” said the old lady, and nudged Madame 
Krone in the side, who was obliged to get out. The old 
Baroness and Elizabeth followed ; the one held by the other 
in the crowd. 

“Now I shall have my will yet,” said the old Baroness, 
and jyau have led us on, Madame Krone.” 

“I, who look such a figure!” said Madame Krone. “I 
have my very worst bonnet on : and now in all that light up 
there 1 ” 

But there was no time to make things better ; those behind 
pressed forward ; to turn back was impossible. The stairs, 
walls, and ceiling were covered with black cloth ; here and 
there hung a ground-glass lamp, the faint light from which 
scarcely showed against the black ground where some of the 
national guard were standing like statues, or a picture from 
a magic lantern ; the air was close, and difficult to breathe, 
from the great mass of persons. It was fatiguing to the old 
Baroness to ascend the stairs ; Madame Krone supported her 
in the best way she could; Elizabeth followed. She was 
strangely touched by the sight of this passage to the hall of 
death : the silence was something to be felt ; they went for- 
ward step by step through a suite of chambers, all covered 
with black — wall, ceiling, and floor. Officers, pages, lackeys 
in mourning, with variously colored shoulder-ribbons, all stood 
there like statues. The slow pace, the monotony of the 
chambers, and the expectation, made the way doubly long. 
No one said a word ; Elizabeth experienced a singularly ner- 
vous sensation ; it was as if the floor moved under her. At 
length they entered the Knights’ Saloon. Sixteen high silver 
candelabra with lights stood in the chamber of death. The 
arms of the kingdom, and the provinces, shone from the 
black walls ; yeomen with halberds stood in a long row against 
the walls, and in the middle of the chamber King Frederick’s 
oldest courtiers, in full dress. Raised on a platform, under 


220 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


the canopy of black velvet and white silk, lay King Frederick 
the Sixth in his coronation robes.^ 

A trembling sensation passed through Elizabeth. This was 
the King, of whom she would have sought pardon for Elimar ! 
this was the ruler ! here lay his sceptre and crown ; here were 
all his rich valuable jewels and ornaments, — the King, the 
dead King! 

The Knights’ Saloon was a vast temple of mourning, the 
same where, fourteen years before, we were at a court ball ; 
where Clara danced with {Iplger, and where, the day after, 
the woman’s brush swept away a button, whose fall to earth 
had great results. 

Elizabeth felt a weakness — a giddiness, and if she had not 
suddenly entered an airy passage, on leaving the hall of 
mourning, she must have fainted. Her feet trembled ; and, 
as the old Baroness, to support herself better, took hold of her 
shoulder, she fell down a couple of steps, but recovered her- 
self directly. The old lady, on the contrary, had swooned : 
she was carried into the porters’ room, w'here she soon came 
to ; and when she was again in the carriage, and the smile 
reappeared upon her face, Madame Krone began to reproach 
her. 

“ I really thought as much,” said she ; “ you ought never to 
have been there, my lady.” 

“ I had my way ; and then one is always glad,” said she, 
but her cheeks burned as with fever. “ I shall have a good 
dose of ‘ kinderpulver,’ ^ when I get home ; that is my apothe- 
cary’s shop, and my doctor.” 

Next morning, when Elizabeth got up, she felt a stiffness 
of her knee. It pained her a little, but she did not think of 
keeping herself still, and the Countess Clara had promised to 
call that morning and take her to Thorvaldsen’s atelier; she 
was to see the great artist himself and speak with him. 

Elizabeth, however, went to the Countess, and they drove 
to Charlottenburg, Thorvaldsen’s dwelling. 

The friendly old artist received them cordially, took them 
about himself, and when the Countess expressed herself in 

1 Christian VIII. was also buried in his coronation robes. 

^ A quieting medicine for children, generally of rhubarb and magnesia- 


KING FREDERICK THE SIXTH 


221 


rather too exalted a strain, which vexed him, he looked at her 
face, her speaking eyes, and was in good humor again, for 
she was still handsome. They were shown everything : the 
atelier, the rooms with the bronzes, and the paintings. 

“ Ay, but I must also see the most sacred chamber of all,” 
said Clara — “ your bedchamber ! ” 

“ There are only my old boots and slippers ! ” said 
Thorvaldsen. 

“They, too, one of these days, will get a place in our 
museum,” said she. 

And she could say ours, for she had taken great interest, 
and had a good part therein. 

“ Then I suppose a cobbler will come to live in the cellar,” 
said Thorvaldsen, and an expression of weariness passed over 
his face. 

Clara would go again into the atelier; see every statue 
again, every bass-relief. 

“And where do these doors lead to?” she inquired, and 
pointed to two in the chamber. 

“ To the botanical garden ; we can also go out that way,” 
he added involuntarily, for he was tired, and opened the door. 

There had been a heavy frost during the night ; it was now 
frosty and bright sunshine ; all the bushes and trees were as if 
crystallized by the rime frost, so that the garden looked quite 
fairy-like. 

Elizabeth, who had regarded all the works of art with a still 
and solemn feeling, now cried out with surprise, — 

“ Good Heavens ! how beautiful ! ” 

Thorvaldsen turned towards her with a smile and saw her 
animated face, which he had not before taken particular 
notice of. 

“ It is a fine sight,” said he. 

“But there is too much rime frost on every branch, ” said 
Clara ; “ a little less, and it would have been more picturesque.” 

“ Yet it is very well done, considering that it is the Almighty 
tvho has done it,” said Thorvaldsen with an ironical smile. 

Now they were to see the hot-houses, then to visit again the 
atelier and the chambers. When Elizabeth was once more in 
the carriage she felt fatigue in all her limbs ; her knee pained 


222 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


her; and when she got home to Christianshavn, she was 
obliged to lie down from over-exertion ; the next day the doc- 
tor ordered leeches and a poultice, and directed that she was 
to keep her bed. 

This continued for days, for weeks. The old Baroness was 
as much c )ncerned as though she had been the cause ; she 
sent every day to inquire after her, and with the inquiry al- 
ways came presents, such as Italian grapes, silk handker- 
chiefs, books, etc. Herman brought the best modern produc- 
tions ; the Councilor was like a father to her, and Trina came 
with a hundred anecdotes from the town and theatre. Many 
hours she was of course quite alone, but she felt the delight of 
being entirely so. She could commune with her own heart, 
where remembrance was awakened within her like an old mel- 
ody. She saw what uncertainty prevails in this shifting scene, 
and was entirely herself. 

“ I collect my thoughts so well,” said she, “ it is a complete 
rest for body and mind ! ” It was a dear occupation to her to 
commit to paper all the impressions that Copenhagen had 
made on her, with her conceptions of all that was new to her, 
and her remarks thereon ; but no one saw, no one suspected 
her employment. She still kept her bed when all the church- 
bells tolled throughout the kingdom for the funeral of King 
Frederick VI. She heard the bells of the nearer churches ; 
she knew that the mournful procession now passed through 
the illuminated streets, where the military lined the road ; she 
heard the cannons fired from the ramparts. She was almost 
alone in the house ; all were out to see the procession ; her 
thoughts followed them as they had once followed Elimar 
when she also lay ill in bed, and when he departed from Fohr 
with the seamen, and went to Holland. 

The remembrance of Elimar supplanted the thought of 
King Frederick ; tears came into her eyes, she bent her head 
and slept and dreamt, as one can dream at times ; that slum- 
ber when one seems not to have fallen asleep, but to see 
everything in the chamber. She saw it all ; saw the ah 
lighted up with every shot of the cannon, and she heard the 
bells ring. Elimar stood by the bedside, and it appeared to 
her neither unexpected nor strange that he should do so. 


KING FREDERICK THE SIXTH. 223 

They spoke as before, and read their whole future life together 
in a book. “ Now remember it well when you awake ! ” said 
he, and then it was no longer Eliniar, but another, whom Eliz- 
abeth, as she started up from her sleep, could not remember, 
nor yet what she had read in her dream. It was as if it had 
been blotted out, and yet it had been so distinct, so natural. 
But she knew in the morning that she had dreamt something 
remarkable on the night that King Frederick’s corpse was 
carried to Roeskilde Cathedral. 

Later in the day came Trina, who, with the singers at the 
theatre, had been in the cathedral and seen all. 

“ The peasants were the best,” said she ; “ yes, the peas- 
ants in their long jackets with silver buttons. They bore the 
coffin in at the middle door of the church ; the organ played, 
and all the bells tolled, and King Christian VIII. dressed in 
black, and the bishop in his cloak, and with his crosier, went 
to meet them. It was solemn to see, but I did not like it last 
night in Copenhagen ; they went at such a hurry, at a gallop ; 
the foremost rode too fast, and the others were obliged to fol- 
low j the funeral car was driven so fast that the coffin danced 
on it. The poor old men, the commanders, and the coun- 
cilors had to run, and that I don’t think was right. There 
must be appearance in everything ; one of the old men nearly 
fainted from fatigue, and I was told that when he got to the 
west gate, he was obliged to get up behind the funeral car, 
and now he is dead ; now he lies like King Frederick. They 
sang, too, from the ramparts ; it was a ‘ farewell ; ’ and the 
peasants sang by the ‘ Pillar of Liberty ; ’ and then came sol- 
diers and cannon ; they, too, went with the procession from 
the ‘ iron gate.’ They drove slowly ; I was far behind, and it 
was not pleasant. Near the town there was a crowd of wild 
fellows ; they sang and shouted ‘ Hurrah ! ’ and threw snow- 
balls, and ends of torches after us. The soldiers with the 
hearse stopped at every inn on the road ; they drove up to the 
door and went in to drink ; it did not look well ; but it was, 
however, a cold night for the poor fellows. The torches shone 
so red ! wherever I came up with the procession, there stood a 
whole crowd of peasants round the hearse, and they sang a 
psalm, and the bells tolled from all the village churches j and 


224 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


in every peasant’s house a light shone from the window over 
field and road, which were white with snow. I saw Baron 
Herman also. I saw him in the church, and he knew me ; 
and when the whole was over, and we came away, he greeted 
me j he does so always ; he is a nice and polite gentleman. 
He is to have a little estate, so the Baroness has said, and is 
to be married this very year.” 

To whom he was to be married Trina knew not, nor did 
Herman himself at that time. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE COMPOSER. 



OW, Herman is going,” said the old Baroness, “but I 


1 M shall put a man in his place directly. You shall see 
him. Don’t fear, Councilor ; it cost a groat ; but then he 
will be driven to your house free of expense.” 

This person was the Gentleman of the Bed-chamber, who 
was expected in Copenhagen by the first steamer, and was to 
complete a new musical work during the summer months, at 
the Baroness’s country seat. 

The Councilor said he regretted that he was to lose Her- 
man, whom he was now so accustomed to, who had such a 
knowledge of books and men, and who spoke so well about 
his travels. 

“ Yes,” said the Baroness, “ so could Gert Westphaler^ also, 
and do you not think that I can too when I like ? I have 
travelled quicker than others : have you heard of my Berlin 
tour ? I was in Hamburg, and intended to return home by 
way of Lubeck, but then I would first see Eulenspiegel’s grave 
in Moln, and so we got into a broad high-road. ‘ How far 
does this go ? ’ I asked. ‘ To Berlin,’ they said. ‘ What ! are 
we on the road to Berlin ? ’ said I ; * then let us drive to 
Berlin.’ And so we drove to Berlin, and saw the soldiers, and 
walked ‘ unter den Linden,’ and got sand in our eyes. I 
stopped at an inn opposite the post-office, where the landlord 
was a poet and a little mad after the theatres, but that I am 
also, and so we two agreed very well together. Has Herman 
told you anything better than that ? I don’t mean to say any- 
thing against him : he is almost good enough ; but he that I 
shall put in his place is the pearl : he has genius ; he has what 
Herman can chatter about, with his definitions and all that. 


1 A garrulous barber in one of Holberg’s plays. 


226 


THE TIVO BARONESSES. 


They must both be provided for. One has dabbled in paint 
and clay; now he can dabble with grass and potatoes the 
other, whom great folks would dabble with, but who was too 
good for them, and who can now snap his fingers at them, 
shall be indulged, and we must take care that he has a good 
time of it, both in town and country.’^ 

It was, therefore, important to her, as she said, to get her 
“ good child ” into honest hands during his stay in Copen- 
hagen. The Councilor had two furnished rooms vacant, and 
these he was to have. 

After the King’s funeral everything fell into its course ; 
parties and the theatre were attended as before ; but Eliza- 
beth recovered only slowly. It was the beginning of March 
before she could move about the rooms with the help of 
crutches, when Herman came to bid farewell before his de- 
parture to Funen. 

“ I shall certainly never see you more,” said she ; and it 
was only with the utmost exertion that she was able to re- 
strain her tears. 

“ Do you, then, think I shall die ? ” said Herman. 

“ No, not so, but my home is in a remote corner of the 
world ; and w'hen I am well enough to be able to travel, 
then, you know, I shall start for Oland.” 

“ But I can come over,” said Herman ; “ I will visit my 
good friend Moritz Nemmesen. I will take the baths at Fohr 
— this summer it can hardly be ; but who knows what the 
next may bring forth ? ” 

“ Your grandmother is old,” said Elizabeth ; “ the Almighty 
might call her : you will then have a new and greater sphere 
of action.” 

“ But then Moritz can come to visit me, and you will ac- 
company him : you will not surely forget me entirely.” 

“ Forget you ! ” she exclaimed with warmth, “ you who have 
been so extremely kind towards me^ who am so mean, so in- 
significant. I have heard and learned so much from your 
visits to us ; and do you think I can forget the evening I saw 
you for the first time, that evening when,” — she stopped, and 
the blood rose to her cheeks, and the tears gushed forth ; 
“ then I saw into your heart. You are good and noble.” 


THE COMPOSER. 


227 

Speak not of that night,” said Herman, my conduct 
then, my speech — nay, I don’t remember what I said to you 
at the first moment, but I cannot stand in any particularly 
good light ; my behavior afterwards was not different to that 
in which every other honorable man would have acted. And 
now ‘ live well : ’ thanks for those pretty songs, for the pleas- 
ant evenings — God bless you, dear Elizabeth ! ” 

He pressed her hand, and was hastening away, when the 
Councilor came in. Much more, and on indifferent subjects, 
was now said; and Elizabeth had time to recover herself. 
Herman was in good humor, and full of desire and longing 
after his new sphere of activity in the country — so they 
parted. Three weeks afterwards the steamer arrived with 
“ the Gentleman.” 

The spring had also arrived. The air had become milder, 
or rather, we had begun to get rain instead of snow. The 
water stood in pools in the streets ; the gutters were choked, 
and stopped the course of the water, which overflowed on all 
sides, and every fresh shower threatened to inundate the cel- 
lars, and drown a few little children and infirm old folks. 

Floating straw and cabbage-stalks drove along ; the har- 
bingers of spring-time ; the worn-out curbstones on the foot- 
path stood with their little cisterns filled ; people jostled each 
other with their wet umbrellas ; “ it was,” they said, “ delightr 
fully mild weather,” and in this mild weather came “ the Gen- 
tleman.” 

Still meagre, as when we last saw him, but more lively than 
of yore, and with that singular mobility in every feature, which, 
as it were, reflected his thoughts, he now stood before Eliza- 
beth. He remembered her and her sweet voice well, and his 
visit to the parsonage in Gland. 

The life and humor, the volubility, even the sarcasms of 
“ the Gentleman,” pleased the Councilor at once. He only 
objected that “ the Gentleman ” was not a true patriot, and he 
told him so. 

“ I love nature here,” he replied, laughing, “ but I do not 
like our generation, — that extremely frivolous, little-minded, 
trifling Copenhagen ; and, therefore, I live in Christianshavn. 
It is strange to return here after years of absence, after years 


228 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


SO full of events that they seem an age, so changed as if one 
had stood outside of the world and seen it turn round. Every- 
thing here at home is in its old course. Everything alike, just 
as the shadows that fall from the houses. The same persons 
in the same places, and in the theatre the same cry of char- 
mant in the wrong place, the same ‘ beating of false time,’ the 
same ingenious remarks. I heard it to perfection yesterday 
evening during the performance of Mozart’s ‘ Don Juan.’ It 
was one of the gentlemen of the court who spoke ; the name 
is of no consequence, stupidity is enough. He made the re- 
mark to me when the ghost appeared, ‘ that it was so un- 
natural — that ghost; one ought in these days to make it 
more probable. Why should it not be one of Don Juan’s 
friends wno had disguised himself in order to warn him, in- 
stead of that ghost ? ’ ‘ But the music does not at all refer 
to a friend,’ said I ; but he thought otherwise.” 

“ But does one not meet with such fools in other countries ? ” 
inquired the Councilor. “ Is Paris really so much before 
us?” 

“ Not at all,” said “ the Gentleman ; ” “ but we are not speak- 
ing about Paris ; I have a crow to pluck with Copenhagen ; ” 
and he laughed and jested at himself ; and this was his usual 
way. 

Elizabeth compared their new guest with Herman, to whom 
she looked up in everything, as many an eye in the wilderness 
looked up to the Baptist, and the former suffered by the com- 
parison ; yet it was only during the first few days. After- 
wards, when she heard him play, and heard him expatiate 
upon music and poetry with that enthusiasm and originality 
which were peculiar to him, he rose considerably higher in 
her estimation. 

With respect to Heimerant’s weak side they however always 
disagreed, but in this dispute of theirs they approached 
nearer to each other, and became more confidenEal. It vas 
her execution of “ Schubert’s songs,” and the Swedish and 
Danish ballads, that gave him, as he said, ideas for Mi- 
randa.” 

“ But who will sing it for me like you ? I can get a more 
powerful, a more cultivated voice than yours ; but the soul, 


THE COMPOSER. 


229 

the innocence — that I shall not get Miranda’s part must be 
simple, as one of Rossini’s songs : it must posess all the 
melody that the heart can breathe forth : on the other hand, 
falsettos, roulades, trills,, and artifices, when the human voice 
becomes like tones from the flute and violin, I shall give to 
Ariel’s and Caliban’s parts, to which they belong — there 
they will have truth and nature.” 

Whilst “ the Gentleman ” composed, Elizabeth sat in her 
little room and composed also — no one knew this. Often in 
her solitude would her work sink into her lap. The book she 
read would close, and she would cradle herself in her own 
thoughts. That shadowy picture of a poem which first 
appeared to her in Trina’s cellar, came involuntarily forth, 
subsided, and again appeared every time with a clearer dis- 
tinctness. She must commit it to paper. It was a little 
novel, and the matter for it, her first childhood’s remem- 
brance, that floating piece of Marsk-land which the sea had 
borne to land. She made a picture of it in few words. A 
half dilapidated house stood on the island, and in a corner sat 
two little children, a boy and a girl. They grew up : they 
were Elimar and Elizabeth. It represented their childhood’s 
life, their distress and anxiety when the flood came and the 
water rose to their breasts. Everything was vividly depicted, 
their terror, their threatened death: but no Jap Lidt Fetters 
came to their aid ; the phantom-ship came, that immense 
phantom-ship, and took them up, and then directed its course 
to India, — that land of imagination which Keike had por- 
trayed for her from the chronicle of Priest John, the land with 
the white and red bears, the bird phoenix, and men thirty feet 
high. And years passed before they reached this country ; 
the children had grown up and become old, with silvery white 
hair ; supporting each other, they landed by the well of 
rejuvenescence, drank of its waters, and became young again, 
as when they went on board the phantom-ship. Hand in 
hand they entered Priest John’s palace, which was built of 
gold and ivory ; the gates were of cedar wood, the windows 
of crystal, and the beds of sapphire overhung with a precious 
stone which dispels all sickness : twenty thousand men kept 
watch within it ; they were all kings, dukes, and archbishops \ 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


230 

and before the palace there was a pillar of crystal, with a mir- 
ror wherein could be seen whoever had good or bad intentions 
towards us, and that over the whole world. 

No one had any suspicion of Elizabeth’s occupation. She 
spoke of “ the Gentleman’s ” new composition ; it formed a 
part of their daily conversation together ; and even as every 
thought, every increased emotion, shone forth from his face, 
so did his melody, spirit, and humor flow from him. He 
was as singularly susceptible of everything about him as the 
surface of the water is to receive the colors of the red morn- 
ing dawn, or under a gray sky to drink in its leaden heaviness 
and cold. 

There was in him an all-embracing sympathy with other 
natures. Holger was the friend he most usually associated 
with ; this was something quite inexplicable to Elizabeth. 
These two could not have any points of sympathy, and yet 
they had “ the Adelgunde theme,” if we may so designate it. 
The Oriental elements which formed Holger’s life’s problem, 
and afforded him the richest matter for conversation, had in it 
something attractive for “ the Gentleman,” who lived purely 
in the world of sound ; the butterfly rests sometimes on the 
marsh moss, flutters its wings and flies again towards the sun. 
Hours afterwards, in company with Elizabeth, he listened with 
a natural and pure mind to what she in her innocence related ; 
he was then in his inmost heart perfectly pious and good : his 
heart overflowed with gratitude towards every one who had 
met him in a friendly spirit ; but at the same time he showed 
a remarkable remembrance of every little mortification he had 
suffered in former years. Whilst, like a sensible man, he ac- 
knowledged the nobility of mind as the highest distinction, 
yet there were moments when “the Gentleman of the Bed- 
chamber ” got the ascendency, and, to use the Baroness’s ex- 
pression, he ought to have “illumined the court calendar.” 
With her he stood in the highest estimation ; his most trivial 
speeches were excellent, and if, as sometimes he did, he ad- 
vanced anything that was entirely opposed to her view of the 
matter, she said “It is not he who speaks; he is giving us 
other people’s sayings; it is good enough for us, we don’t 
deserve his own sensible and acute remarks.” 


THE COMPOSER. 


231 

He saw his own weaknesses with a clear eye, and from the 
study of himself he understood others ; but by this dwelling 
on himself he was often led to speak too much about his own 
person ; to make himself the subject of the conversation, on 
which account others became more free in their judgment of 
him as if it had been a third person that was spoken of. 
Thus Elizabeth became more intimate with him ; the inter- 
course was more free than with Herman ; “ the Gentleman’s ” 
life was more like an open book to her. He told her remi- 
niscences of his bitter youth ; of his own proud dreams, like 
Joseph’s, and the superciliousness and indignities of others, 
because he was poor. He played to her his first written com- 
positions, and told her the origin of several others. During 
one of these conversations, he asked her if she never felt sim- 
ilar musical inclinations, if the tones did not, as it were, well 
forth in the soul, there, where thought had not words. And 
she said that she never wanted words ; she thought she had 
an expression for every thought, only that her words were 
often so transitory, that she could not retain them until they 
could be committed to paper ; and as she explained herself 
more clearly, her secret was betrayed, and at last, after much 
persuasion, what she had written was brought forth, and her 
friend received permission to read it, but no one else, no not 
one. Elizabeth crimsoned deeply ; it was as if she had com- 
mitted a sin ; she now felt that the whole composition was 
trivial and child-like. “ The Gentleman ” read, and was as- 
tonished at the clear and vigorous language, and the poetic 
coloring, but particularly at the descriptions of nature. The 
work was something more than ordinary; he felt that there 
was a poetic soul in it, and with a lively and warm praise of 
it, he pointed out particular passages, and gave a signification 
to them that she had never thought of, but which they never- 
theless conveyed. Priest John’s kingdom was the land of 
poetry and art, wherein the old found the strength of youth, 
and life’s whole beauty again. “ The Gentleman ” became a 
commentator, as many have become. His delight gave value, 
in the eyes of Elizabeth, to what she had written ; his en- 
couragement was like the sun’s kiss on the flower after rain ; 
his strong interest for her was not concealed, but certainly its 
cause was, and that must surely be, “ He is in love ! ” 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


232 

That at least was the old Baroness’s idea, and she looked at 
him with an expression of affection, and shook her head 
gently. 

“ My good child,” said she, ‘‘ pray do not go and dream of 
a wife until you get one. Adam did so, but the wife he got 
was no good. There are women’s hearts that are like a post- 
bag, which is full of sealed letters, but the letter itself does 
not know what is in it.” 

The Baroness, however, came oftener than before to thr* 
Councilor’s, and spoke in her way, or, as she called it, sen 
sibly, with Elizabeth, who rose more and more in her favor ; 
and suddenly, one day in May, shortly before the Baroness’.« 
departure for Funen — she was invited to accompany her, 

“ For it will do you good,” said the old lady ; “ there you 
will have peace and quiet, and green woods ; there is also a 
doctor near at hand, and the cuckoo will tell you how long 
you have to live. We shall go by the steamer ; it is one day’s 
voyage, and then you will be half-way home to your island.” 

She said the same to the Councilor ; they talked again and 
again about it j Moritz was written to, and it was decided. 
“ The Gentleman” found this arrangement excellent ; Eliza- 
beth smiled through her tears ; it was a separation from her 
Copenhagen home, but it led to the woods in Funen, to her 
arrival at home in Oland. 

Trina was most pleased about it. 

“ I wish I could go with you,” said she, “ and Hansen too. 
God bless me, I would not travel without him. It is beautiful 
in Funen ; that is my land, though I am a Copenhagener. 
Remember me to Madame Katrineson ; her husband I know 
is dead. His death was in the papers, with a little verse ; and 
do you know where it was taken from ? Why, from my wed- 
ding song, which Katrineson himself made ! Yes, go to my 
dear Funen, and God grant that you may inherit the Baron- 
ess’s property ; but, however, it may go with you, do not forget 
me nor Hansen either; he is a rare man. His cousin the 
diver spoke about you yesterday, and begged us to give his re- 
spects. For Heaven’s sake write to me ; you know the cellar 
in Pink Street.” 

Heimerant was out of spirits. “ It was,” he said, “ as if he 
were again about to lose one of his children.” 


THE COMPOSED 


233 

** They are all dispersed far and wide : my eldest son is In 
the East Indies, the second in Archangel ; the two youngest 
the Lord took from me; he took them to himself — those 
two then are the nearest to me.” 

And the steamer went to Funen. 

The weather was fine, the wind fair, so that they hoisted 
sail ; the sun had not yet gone down when they reached Svend- 
borg, whence they were some miles distant from the Baron- 
ess’s estate. 

That which in Funen so vividly reminds one of England, 
and in both enchants the eye, is the fresh verdure, the living 
hedges, and the beautiful groups of trees in the fields, which 
give the country the appearance of a garden. This sight de- 
lighted Elizabeth. The sun, however, had gone down when 
they drove from Svendborg homewards, but the sky was like 
gold ; the full moon was quite pale amid all this splendor ; 
there was a quiet in the whole scene as if all the woods around 
slept ; and in the villages they passed through, where the bell 
had lately rung at sunset, were groups of gossiping girls. 
The farmer’s men played at skittles, and the peasant’s little 
daughter came sauntering along with her cow ; it had been 
grazing all day by the road- side, and was now driven home ; 
the fields with their spring grain looked like green velvet ; the 
ditches like the horn of plenty, filled with flowers ; and as 
they drove on the clouds became paler, the moon assumed a 
stronger lustre ; it became more and more still on the road 
and in the villages, and a bluish mist arose from the meadows, 
like the ghost of that lake which had once extended its waters 
here. Every remembrance of childhood was awakened in 
Elizabeth’s heart. 

She approached the garden solitude, and the old mansion 
within it ; its jagged gable overgrown with green stood out 
sharp against the clear air ; a stork’s nest was at the very top ; 
there slept the stork’s family, for it was past midnight. 
Lights moved about within the house ; they saw them through 
the window-panes. Elizabeth again saw the living espalier 
within, the old portraits ; the Commander’s, with his star on 
his breast, and the lady with the parrot on her hand. Everj^- 
thing was so familiar, but smaller, much smaller than she had 


234 the two baronesses. 

imagined. The long passage where the floor bulged — it did 
so still — was, she thought, but half as long as when she was 
a child. A pretty room towards the garden awaited her ; and 
when she retired to rest there, the moon shone in at the win- 
dow, on the hangings, on which bounding stags were repre- 
sented. She almost thought that her life in Oland and Copen- 
hagen was but a dream ; but in that dream she had become 
older, wiser, and had found the invisible thread that went 
through hers, as through every human being’s life. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


IN THE PRIVATE CHAMBER, AND IN THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 

E lizabeth was now again in Funen. 

She again sat under the fresh green beeches ; the 
whole wood had an aspect of purity and peace, which is re- 
freshing to the eye, and makes the mind young again. The 
nightingale sang, not funereal dirges, but heart-felt solemn 
lays, clear as a bell. 

A little donkey was saddled for Elizabeth. “ The Gentle- 
man” walked by her side, and thus the tour of the garden 
and the wood was made. Sometimes they drove out, and 
then it was on frequented roads and through villages, for the 
Baroness liked to see people. The little peasant boys — they 
have almost all light yellow hair, and brown faces — gave 
their comical nod as if they had just received a blow on the 
back of the head ; the girls, great and small, dipped candles} 
This was a pleasure to the Baroness to see. 

“ They have not been at the dancing-school, like Trina ! ” 
said she : “ that is natural courtesying ; I could do it once, but 
I have lost it through years and idleness.” 

They visited the rich peasants, where they sat in the great 
room between high-made beds, where one disappears in the 
down ; they saw what was “ spun and won,” what linsey-wool- 
sey and wadmel were made. But they also entered the poor 
peasant’s clay-floor cottage, where the hen had a corner by 
the family bed, and where there was often under the bare loft 
so much goodness and honesty, that more than the Almighty 
might have regarded it. This the old lady spoke of, in her 
way. At the door of the sick she stopped and asked how 
they w’ere going on ; the best wine from her cellar was not too 
good here. The simple words in the poor man’s thanks, the 
1 Made a quick courtesy. 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


236 

eyes that spoke, when the words could not find utterance, 
forced their way to the heart, and did good, like the sunshine 
and the fresh green woods. 

Herman, who, the day after his grandmother’s arrival, paid 
her a visit, was a constant guest every Sunday, although his 
estate was full twelve miles distant, towards the Great Belt. 
He and “the Gentleman” had only seen each other many 
years before, when they both, though differently treated, were 
the guests of Count Frederick’s father. They soon under- 
stood each other’s abilities. When they spoke of art and 
poetry, Elizabeth always approached nearer to them, but they 
could never induce her to join in the conversation. In Her- 
man’s presence she quite undervalued herself, and could only 
say a word now and then. One day she felt this: the Gentle- 
man of the Bed-chamber led the conversation to compositions 
of the kind to which her writings belonged, and she thought 
Herman’s judgment severe and that he fixed his eyes search- 
ingly on hers ; and yet he did not know her “ only fault,” as 
a poet has called it. 

“It is not enough,” said Herman, “to be able to write 
down one’s thoughts correctly, — that belongs to the refinement 
of our age, — but the main point is what those thoughts are ; it 
is not enough that they give a reflection of what we already 
possess ; a new flower must be added to the tree of poetry \ 
or a weaker leaf must be strengthened and developed.” 

“I too think,” said the other, “that that poetical work, 
during the reading of which we are not enriched by a new 
thought which is either perfectly presented, or which before 
lay indistinct in ourselves, is a mediocre work. But yotc seem 
to demand an entirely new art of poetry ; to expect a Messiah 
in our time in the world of poetry ! — and can we do so ? ” 

“ I think that the time has not yet come,” answered Her- 
man ; “ there is so much intimated that is not yet executed ; 
there is so much that must be first brought to light and truth. 
In novels and romances, I would not have events alone, but 
characters and poetry ; a novel that contains only events is 
read but once ; the unexpected, the surprising, which was the 
life and soul of it, is departed, dead after perusal ; on the con- 
trary, where the human character appears forcibly and nat- 


IN THE PRIVATE CHAMBER 237 

urally drawn ; where thoughts exist in living words ; where 
poetry has its imperishable growth, — to such a work we return 
again and again : that book is read and reread j one comes 
from it refreshed, as from a ramble in the woods in spring.” 

“ But have we not in part, such an author in Jean Paul?” 
inquired “ the Gentleman.” 

“ He is very near it,” answered Herman ; “ and would be 
one of the most interesting, if he were not the most fatiguing 
author I know. He can indicate, but he will not be the Colum- 
bus of this age, to lead us to the coast of a new region of 
poetry ; the voyage is long enough, and has its brilliant natural 
wonders, but we are ever in suspense or expectation. He has 
no firm ground ; the persons we meet with are not flesh of 
our flesh : the soul conceals as it were the body from us ; we 
feel, if I may use the expression, the fragrance of the flower, 
but do not see the flower itself — that bodily comprehensive- 
ness which we perceive in Walter Scott. This author and Jean 
Paul, so different in their productions, and yet so alike in 
poetical power, would, I think, could they coalesce and be 
brought into a compressed representation, be a type for our 
age’s new poets. Everything must be true, clear, and concise ; 
encircled with that fragrance which exists in our national bal- 
lads ; that lyrical power which beams around Calderon’s 
dramas, and this may even be breathed into the tale of prose : 
it is not the metrical interweavings of the words, but the 
metal in them that speaks to the hearts of nations.” 

Whilst Herman spoke, Elizabeth’s thoughts rose to the ideal 
he pointed at, and she felt what child’s play her writings were. 

“ The Gentleman,” on the contrary, found in them an un- 
conscious approximation to the standard laid down, which 
Herman would acknowledge if he read them, and sthat he 
must do ; therefore he begged her to let Herman read them ; 
but she blushed deeply at the request, and refused it in the 
most determined manner. 

“ And you can think and say so, after having heard his 
words to-day ? ” said she. 

But he returned often to the same point; his conviction 
was sincere, it gave weight to his words, and with fear and a 
mingled feeling of desire and disinclination, she offered them 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


238 

to him, on condition that Herman, if he found, as she was 
convinced he would, that they were worthless, would never 
speak to her about them. 

And weeks passed away. 

“ Herman finds them excellent,” said “ the Gentleman.” 

“ I do not believe it,” replied Elizabeth ; “ he did not say a 
word to me about them the last time he was here. You do 
not know how uncomfortable I felt myself ; it was as if a 
mountain were interposed between us. I did not venture to be 
alone with him.” 

“ And by that means you were yourself the cause of his not 
having the opportunity of speaking with you and thanking 
you.” 

“ Herman has regarded them as what they are, the occupa- 
tion of an invalid,” thought she ; and yet she treasured up 
every word of praise that “ the Gentleman ” delivered as Her- 
man’s. These words were regarded as a metal which she did 
not know whether to consider as genuine or false, and which 
therefore must not be cast away. 

One Sunday afternoon, as Elizabeth sat in the garden under 
the red thorn, Herman approached. They were alone. 

“ I thank you for your confidence in me,” said he. “ What 
you have written is pretty and natural, and excels particu- 
larly in what most writings in our time want — piety. I ought 
to congratulate you, because I really, as an elder brother, am 
fond of you. You have an eye for nature and mankind ; you 
have a heart and purity, as woman should have both ; and yet 
with these great gifts, and whilst they shine forth with a desire 
to produce something, I am grieved for you. In all sincerity 
I speak to you : you have courage to come forth before the 
world, as it were to share with it what God has given you ; but 
remember, that from the moment you do so you no longer 
belong to yourself — you must be prepared to find that your 
best feelings may be misunderstood. You know that I have 
always upheld the good that is in our native land, but now is 
the moment when I must point to its opposite. Good-nature 
is not, at least at this time, a characteristic of the Danish na- 
tion ; there is in us a tendency to deride, which is far more 
conspicuous. We have a keen sense of the ludicrous, from 


IN THE PRIVATE CHAMBER. 


239 

which cause we possess a literature of comedies ; but amongst 
the multitude this sense is perverted into a desire to turn 
things inside out or upside down, — to turn everything into 
ridicule. Have you strength and courage to bear the derision 
of the fool.? nay, even the best and noblest may vex you. 
Well then, I will not say a word more. What is a divine mis- 
sion will make its way ; but do not call forth these feelings in 
you, do not cherish a flower that deteriorates the good soil, 
and prevents the thriving of that which might be perhaps 
more useful and better.” 

“ I know you mean well and kindly towards me,” said Eliza- 
beth, — ^^you I believe most firmly and sincerely ; but believe 
me also, when I say that I have never found anything more 
in writing than the pleasure I have had when alone in singing 
a song that came into my mind ! but I may have been led 
astray by hearing another, who placed his own poetic soul in 
my written words. I assure you, that from this moment I will 
never commit anything similar to paper.” 

“ That would be an injustice towards me, towards your- 
self!” said Herman yet your good sense will guide you. 
What I said was from an elder brother’s heart ; let it be a 
counterbalance to you, against the perhaps too great enthu- 
siasm another feels for you ; and now give me your hand as 
an assurance that you have received my words in as good 
part they were offered — that we are friends.” 

“ Still more than ever,” exclaimed Elizabeth, with a vivacity 
and a warmth that almost terrified herself — and she only 
pressed the hand gently she herself had seized. 

It was the 14th of August ; that day which the old Baroness 
liked best in the almanac, as she said, and had chosen as 
her birthday, when the poor came in the forenoon and got their 
presents, which was still the custom, and a great party was in- 
vited to dinner. Early in the morning she went to the private 
chamber, but this time she took Madame Krone with her, who 
was not a little surprised at the invitation. 

“ No one sees when sleep comes,” said the old lady, “ and 
still less when death comes. It is good to have one’s house in 
order before one lies down ; so I will do that to-day, and you 
must help me, Madame Krone. I have thought of it ever 


THE TPVO BARONESSES. 


240 

since I bade farewell to King Frederick ; he was no warrior, 
however fond he may have been of soldiers, neither will I be. 
I will conclude a peace, and that on my birthday. There sits 
my father-in-law,” and she pointed to the old portrait that was 
set up on the remains of the wooden horse. “ He looked just 
as angry, nay, still worse. He is the first I can remember 
from my childhood ; he stood in such a red coat as you see 
there, with his horsewhip in his hand ; it cracked over my 
head, it made a long blood-red blister over my head and neck, 
and I v/as a little innocent child creeping about the pavement 
under the wooden horse, which my poor father rode on with 
stones bound to his legs. I can remember how terribly my 
mother screamed, and he there in the red coat kicked the 
poor sick woman, so that she fell on the pavement. I never 
could forget it ; I have had the scream many a time in my 
ears ; I have felt the blow of the whip burn over my temples ; 
and that I have not become mad is not my fault. But we 
must be Christian beings ; I would willingly be so, but we are 
not rightly fitted for Christianity, Madame Krone ; the will is 
not sufficient. But now that time is past. King Frederick 
lies in his tomb, and I certainly keep my last birthday to-day ; 
so I will not be borne from under the roof with him there, 
without having first settled accounts and pardoned him.” 

She took the portrait, which was half loosened, from the 
worm-eaten frame. 

“ It shall be put under the poor man’s soup-kettle,” said 
she — “ it and all the wood there : help me, Madame Krone. 
I will burn him, and when he becomes ashes, I will hope that 
he may not burn elsewhere. See how fresh the plank still is ; 
it was the horse’s back ; it shall not be burnt. I can make 
good use of it ; it is no nonsense, it is a charitable thought.” 

“You have always been good and charitable,” said Ma- 
dame Krone ; “ and it is right and sensible to have all this 
burnt — it ought to have been done long ago.” 

“ He acted ill to me and mine, towards every poor child ; 
yes, towards his own flesh and blood ; his own son was good 
from the hands of the Lord, but was bungled and spoiled, 
and for that I have wept many a time ; but that I have found 
out of late. The dead man does not sleep so soundly, but 


IN THE PRIVATE CHAMBER, 


241 

that there is some part of him that hears and knows what 
happens here. He who lifted his horsewhip has been obliged 
to lie still in his coffin and see poor Dorothy drive into the 
court-yard with four horses, — see his son and his name die 
away, and Rasmus’s daughter become a Baroness. After me 
there will come another name, and then there are none who 
will know the race. Another name, which perhaps is not even 
the right, the honest one ” — She stopped, and a bitter smile 
passed over her lips. 

“ Do not say anything more against Baron Herman,” ex- 
claimed Madame Krone ; “ the very thought is sinful ! ” 

“ And those we have many of,” said the old lady ; “ I have 
myself said it to him once. I shall be glad if I may be per- 
mitted to beg our Lord pardon for it. But my daughter’s child 
he is, and therefore he will be master of the estate here, when 
I leave it for the church.” 

“ His mother shed salt tears over him, when he was an in- 
fant,” said Madame Krone : “ his mother was as angelically 
pure as any on this earth.” 

“Yes, don’t make me think otherwise of her,” said the old 
Baroness, with great vehemence ; “ she was pure and honest 
in her very heart and thoughts ; but my meaning, neverthe- 
less, is not built on air and false words. She was pure as an 
angel, that I say, and she is with God. I have more guilt ! — 
one should always fear God and keep to the high-road: if 
we had been on the high-road to Naples, it would have been 
better for us all together. I have never told you rightly about 
it, Madame Krone ; it is not pleasant to talk about. I was in 
Rome with my daughter, where she was betrothed to Bunke- 
Ronow, the Holsteiner. They were married early one morn- 
ing, and we set out in the carriage directly afterwards for 
Naples ; but I would not go by the high-road — I would go 
over the mountains. We were there in the middle of the day ; 
in the afternoon we continued our journey; we were all 
mounted on asses, and the guide ran by the side. It looked 
very wild and romantic ; it was solitary, and evening came on, 
and we were constantly getting more and more followers ; our 
party became too great ; they had both knives and guns ; and 
just as I was thinking what would happen, our guide ran 
16 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


242 

away. One gun only was fired, and Ronow’s servant, who 
was tall and strong, was shot dead. There were three to each 
of us ; they bound Ronow’s hands — it was a fine marriage- 
day he had ! At last we had all to walk between stones and 
bushes. It was up and down : one of the robbers, a young 
active fellow, helped my daughter ; he was handsome of his 
kind. There were some caverns in the mountains like stables, 
into which we were taken, and there they talked their slang ; 
and then Ronow was unbound. He was to procure money by 
a certain hour, and bring it to a place they appointed ? and he 
had one of the robbers to accompany him. I and my daugh- 
ter were obliged to remain there. They did us no harm j they 
gave us meat and drink, and I told them how hard it was, and 
that it was not DEi^s^an^ike. I told them, too, that it was 
my daughter’s marnaf^e-da^.. that she had been married that 
morning. ‘ Poor child ! ’ said the rascal who had helped her ; ' 
and then he laughed with tho^e eyes of his : they were still 
blacker than Herman’s, and his teeth shone as white as those 
in Herman’s mouth ; and so we remained there in the stable. 

I got a hole to lie in ; it was a fine night’s sleep I had j he, 
wto^h^fil^^AJLéS, took care of my daughter. Next evening 
the rå'rfs^Txrt?amcy'ånd we were politely and safely conducted 
to the road, set on asses, and told that we were to follow the 
path we were on, and we should then come to the husband, 
and we did so. The first we met with was Ronow, who was 
compelled by them to wait for us where we found him. But 
before we parted from the rascals, he with the black eyes and • 
the white teeth came, and kissed my poor child, who was as 
pale as death. He said words to her that I have hidden in 
my heart ; hidden with that smile he had, and the appearance 
of his person when he stood up on the stone and waved his 
red neckcloth as we rode away. Yes, so it was — but you 
must not let this story be printed, Madame Krone, nor will I ! 
Now take the rest of that wooden rubbish ; I have taken what 
I can, and then we will go to the kitchen, and get it to blaze 
well under the poors’ soup-kettle.” 

Before they left the private chamber, Elizabeth, who could 
now take a walk without a stick, had left the mansion and 
gone into the wood, whence she followed the path over the 


IN THE VILLAGE CHURCH 


243 

meadow to the church. The door to the church porch was 
open, the organ sounded sweetly to her; she knew it was 
“ the Gentleman,” who often took the key of the church-door 
and went there to play alone. She stopped by a grave; it 
was Katrineson’s ; one of the verses he had written for 
Trina’s wedding, and which was printed in the newspaper 
with the announcement of his death, was also inscribed here as 
an epitaph : his verses were thus put to use. From the grave 
Elizabeth went into the church, and straight up to the altar, 
where the tones of the organ could be best heard. 

It was a pretty village church with whitewashed walls and 
vaulted roof : in the choir was an old painting representing a 
man in the dress of an ecclesiastic, with a long beard ; he 
stood between his two wives, and all his children, the sons to 
the right and the daughters to the left : the youngest stood in 
the foreground : they were all dressed alike and with folded 
hands. Opposite this, in the choir, was the family chapel, 
separated from the church by an iron-railing ; within this the 
coffins were placed in rows, but in the middle of the floor 
there stood the magnificent marble sarcophagus, brought from 
Italy, in which were the remains of the wicked Baron, the old 
lady’s father-in-law. Here, when alive, he had rioted with his 
brother revelers ; here he had sat in the open coffin and 
drunk the most reprobate toasts, and had suddenly been si- 
lenced in the midst of them. He sat there dead, with his face 
of a dark blue color. Now it was still and peaceful here ; a 
sunbeam fell through the window on the old suspended ban- 
ners, and the white marble coffin at whose foot two carved 
angels wept ; but there came no tears from the eyes, said the 
peasants, “ for there could come none for that fellow.” 

The last tones of the organ died away ; and “ the Gentle- 
man ” came into the church to Elizabeth. 

Herman had arrived at the manor-house at the' time they 
were in the church ; his horse was put into the stable, and he 
himself went from room to room : there was no one to be found. 

“ The Gentleman of the Bed-chamber is most likely in the 
church,” said the footman, and Herman went there. He did 
not hear the organ, but the door to the porch was open ; 
there must be some one. As he walked up the aisle he saw 


THE TWO BAEONESSES. 


244 

Elizabeth and “ the Gentleman ” sitting on the kneeling bench 
before the altar, in conversation. They did not observe him : 
a thought struck him and he turned back to the porch, whence 
one could ascend into the loft up a little open staircase. The 
vaulted roofs rose here, like one baker’s oven by the side of 
another. Herman, however, found the way to the part that 
was directly over the choir, and where, by taking a board 
noiselessly away, he made an opening directly over their 
heads, from which he could see and speak to them. 

The organ had ceased playing only a few minutes before 
Herman came, and “ the Gentleman ” had gone down to 
Elizabeth. They looked at the portraits of the Clergyman’s 
family, and Elizabeth found that the Clergyman in particular 
was painted so life-like, that it seemed as if he would walk out 
of the frame and speak to them. “ But now, this morning, in 
clear sunshine, I do not think that it would terrify me ! ” 

“ That depends on what he might ask you, does it not ? ” 
said “ the Gentleman,” with a smile. 

“ I have heard that one should answer spirits briefly and 
firmly; then they have no power,” said she; “besides, I do 
not know by what question I should be frightened.” 

“ One could certainly be found.” 

“ And that would be ? ” — she asked. 

“ If he now placed himself before us, ’’exclaimed “ the Gentle- 
man,” “and asked you, — yes, he might do so, — ‘will you 
give your hand to that man who sits by your side, and be his 
wife ? ’ ” 

“ Then I would answer, ‘ We are not betrothed, and we do 
not think of being so ! ’” 

“ But now if /thought of it,” said “the Gentleman ” seri- 
ously, and seized her hand. — It was just at that moment 
that Herman looked down to them from the opening above, 
but he did not hear a word ; he did not hear what was said. 

“ Yes, Elizabeth ! you are so very dear to me, I could indeed 
be happy with you, unspeakably happy — I venture to tell 
you so in this holy place ! — be my wife ! ” 

No, Herman did not hear it, and yet he started back invol- 
untarily, surprised at the cordiality with which “ the Gentle- 
man ” seized Elizabeth’s hand — perplexed at having, per- 


rN 2 'HE VILLAGE CHURCH 245 

haps as an eaves’-dropper, intruded upon a secret. He stood 
for a moment, uncertain whether to speak or be silent, to go 
or to stay ; he durst not push the board over the opening, as 
he might perhaps awaken their attention by the noise ; he 
would steal gently away. What had been said ? What con- 
nection was there between their words and what he had seen ? 
They were still talking, but he did not catch the words — he 
would not hear them — when at that moment his own name 
was audibly pronounced by “ the Gentleman.” 

“ Herman 1 you love Herman ! ” said he, — “ answer me ! ” 

And Herman heard it ; the blood mounted to his brain : 
he would have hastened away, but stumbled and fell ; he 
crawled awkwardly over the vaulted roofs back again, and 
when he reached the bottom of the stairs he stood still for a 
moment, in doubt with himself whether he should remain or 
retire. Just then steps were heard; the door to the church- 
porch was flung to ; it was Elizabeth who had hastily broken 
off the conversation, and now left the church followed by “ the 
Gentleman.” 

When Herman arrived at the porch he found himself locked 
in : perhaps there was another place of exit from the church 
itself j at least he could escape through one of the windows ; 
they were, however, very high. His thoughts were in a fer- 
ment ; he sat down before the altar where the two had sat just 
before. “ You love Herman! ” he repeated to himself; and 
what had she answered — what had caused that exclamation? 
What connection was there between those two ? 

His thoughts descended from his brain to his heart; he 
walked a few paces, and remained standing before the iron- 
railing in front of the open chapel : the nearest cofiin was the 
least ; a withered wreath of flowers lay upon it ; it was re- 
newed every year. It must be Herman’s mother who rested 
there ; the coffln by the side of it contained his father. The 
sight deeply affected him, for it was the first time he had ever 
been to the burial chapel, and yet so near his deceased par- 
ents. He could not remember either of them, for he was but 
little more than a year old when they died. He remembered 
what his grandmother had said years ago, in bitterness, about 
his birth ; and the image of the robber clad in silk and velvet, 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


246 

on the way to the place of execution appeared to his imagina- 
tion — his own mirrored image, with the dark eyes and shin- 
ing white teeth. To this figure another succeeded ; it was 
Elizabeth’s father, as he stood in the billiard-room and wiped 
his eyes with the woolen tassel of his cap. 

And now the two who lately sat here before the altar, and 
what had been said, — all passed with the rapidity of thought 
through Herman’s head and heart too quickly to put words to 
them, but even without words we may understand them. He 
had stood some minutes, when a key was turned in the little 
door which led from the chapel into the church-yard ; the 
door was opened, and the old Baroness and Madame Krone 
entered. They looked at him with astonishment. 

“ Herman ! ” said his grandmother ; “ you here ! ” 

I could find no one in the house,” he replied, “ and so I 
came over here, and have been locked in. I certainly did not 
expect that you would come here. This is not the place to 
pay you my greeting on your birthday.” 

“ O, never mind ; you can congratulate me,” said she. 
“ Do you not yet know that this was never my birthday ? It 
was not registered when I was born, but this date has been re- 
membered — this day, when he there in the marble coffin, did 
my father, my mother, and me, cruel wrong ; therefore I have 
done poor folks good on this day. But you shall not praise 
me for that, for I will not be praised. I had malicious feel- 
ings in my heart against him, but now old King Frederick has 
prayed to our Lord for the lords of the soil, as he here prayed 
for the peasants.” 

Herman nodded to the old lady kindly and sympathizingly. 

“Now, this morning I have rummaged out and put my 
house in order,” continued she, “ and I have put all to rights 
in my own heart, for that one should always do. I came here 
to sa}' that the past is forgotten, and now I will not come 
hither again until I am borne hither. I will tell you what, 
Herman : I should like much to lie outside the church, and not 
to have my coffin standing for show, like a chest of drawers. 
Give me your hand. Here sleeps your mother ; she w’as pure 
and innocent as God’s angels ! — make her happy and make 
me happy, by being good towards the poor. We are all of 


IN THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 247 

one piece — all made of the same clod of earth ; one came 
in a newspaper, another in gilt paper, but the clod should not 
be proud of that. There is nobility in every class; but it 
lies in the mind and not in the blood, for we are also all one 
blood, whatever they may say : what runs in the veins near 
the heels has before been through the heart, and will come 
there again ; it is even so within us, and it is even so with 
those around us. Remember that ! And now we will go, my 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE SEPARATION AND THE MEETING. 

HE peasants got their presents of woolen and linen, of 



JL provisions and playthings, in the great hall at the 
manor-house. — “ And the Baroness spoke freely with us,” 
said they. Herman sat at the breakfast-table quite alone ; 
“ the Gentleman ” had excused himself from coming, as he 
was composing ; Elizabeth, however, made her appearance, 
and shook hands with Herman ; but she wore a slightly dis- 
turbed aspect. She had some arrangements to make, she 
said, and Herman was again alone. He went into the garden, 
and “ the Gentleman ” suddenly stood before him, so free, so 
lively, and cordial ; it was not as if anything had lately moved 
him strongly. He spoke of his music, his last composition, 
and how well it proceeded. 

“ I lie here as in a quiet harbor,” said he, “ and roll about 
by myself, without being disturbed from without! They 
have been productive months for me, but my nature is not 
formed for such continual peace ; during the last few days I 
have at times felt a disquiet and desire to travel ; to-day I 
have had such an attack. There is something of the nature 
of a bird of passage in me ; that instinct by which it is inex- 
plicably driven from its comfortable nest compels it thence on 
the very finest day. I believe I shall also fly before I know it 
myself.” 

“ I have known the same at an early period,” answered 
Herman ; “ it lies in the mind of youth ; and you, with a 
strongly gifted poetic nature, have preserved it longer than I : 
it is an instinct that must be the same as with the bee, to fly 
forth and gather honey.” 

Whilst they thus strolled about the garden, in conversation 
concerning inclinations and situations, which, however, did not 


THE SEPARATION AND THE MEETING. 249 

\ touch on the events of the morning in the church, one carriage 
\ rolled into the yard after another with guests. They did not 
\seem to notice their arrival, until the footman came to inform 
them how late it was. 

Herman got a place at the dinner-table by the side of an 
old acquaintance, w’ho was happy in sitting by a man who had 
seen so much of the world. 

“ It accomplishes, it instructs one,” said he ; “ how have I 
not wished myself in your place, for I know what it is to travel. 
I have visited most parts of Germany, have been in Hamburg, 
Hanover, Frankfort, and other places; but what is that com- 
pared to your travels ? ” 

He was the Councilor from Odense, whom the reader may 
perhaps recollect seeing at an earlier period of our story. He 
had become visibly older ; his gray hair was thin over his fore- 
head : his companion through life’s voyage had left him — he 
was a widower. 

Elizabeth sat on the opposite side ; she did not once look 
at Herman ; on the contrary, it appeared to him as if she 
regarded “the Gentleman” several times with a sad and 
thoughtful look, nay, that once, even tears forced their way 
into her eyes, which, however, she restrained. 

“ And he can believe that she loves me ! ” thought Herman ; 
“ he can forget what a difference there is between her age and 
mine ; she sixteen, I thirty-four ; double — yes, more than 
double ! She, that child whom I have borne in my arms and 
pressed to my heart ! But is he not older even also than my- 
self? Yes, he must be so ; but his years are not to be seen in 
his face, or in his mind ; that is young, like hers ! The soul 
is, however, the root and flower of our life’s tree ! ” 

His eyes were cast down thoughtfully, and when he again 
looked up it was at Elizabeth, who sat opposite to him in all a 
maiden’s loveliness and beauty. Yes, he felt that man was 
formed after God’s image ; hers imprinted itself upon his 
thoughts, to follow him to his home, and there, like the sun’s 
rays when concentrated in the burning-glass, to work with 
stronger power. 

The same evening, after the party had broken up, “ the 
Gentleman ” had a long conversation with the old Baroness, 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


250 

and it was in consequence of this that Madame Krone, next 
day, received a small lecture, which will bring us a step further 
on with these events. It was a lecture on “ matrimony.” 

“ One should not play the Lord,” said the Baroness ; “ one 
should not pair folks together. It is not right, Madame Krone, 
and I have never done it.” 

“ Nor I either,” answered Madame Krone ; “ nor do I 
know at all why you say this to me.” 

“ Because I say it to myself,” said the Baroness. “ I have 
read in an old book, or I have myself imagined it — I don’t 
rightly remember — but it is indifferent, for it is not to be 
printed, that every person is a sort of half ball which is rolled 
about the world, and will have the right half part that belongs 
to it, so that it may be whole.” 

“ Yes, but of what use is that? ” said Madame Krone. 

“ Then they roll better,” said the Baroness ; “ there comes 
one half part, and ther ecomes another half part ; they come 
together directly, but they do not fit rightly ! they roll badly, 
and often separate, and that is not the worst of it. Thus I 
thought about my good child ‘ the Gentleman,’ and little 
Eli ’abeth, that they were two halves to a right whole : I have 
not brought them together, and w'ould not play the Lord, but 
I set them on the road and thought, — now they may run. 
For it is bad, Madame Krone, when one half rolls about in 
Greenland, and the other half in France — they don’t find 
each other. I have thought in my way, but I have thought 
wrong. They will not run together : he has been set in mo- 
tion all at once, and will roll away to Paris, and now she can 
trundle to Oland : I shall not meddle with it ! ” 

The day was fixed for the departure of “ the Gentleman.’^ 
He would go — he must go. 

“ I am not so selfish that I should wish to keep him here,” 
said the old Baroness ; “ he belongs to the world ? he is a 
wine that must be kept in a golden bowl, and not stand here 
in the slop-basin. He shall travel ; I will have it so.” And 
tears came into the old lady’s eyes. 

It was as if that restlessness which drove him from the 
manor, had also seized Elizabeth. She was now perfectly re- 
covered, and almost a whole year had passed since she left 


THE SEPARATION AND THE MEETING. 25 I 

her home on Oland, — but how rich had not that time been! 
She felt that she had become an entirely new being. The 
time of her childhood appeared to be far, far distant ; she 
was elevated high in thought and seriousness, yet all the while 
in sunshine and gladness. Kind eyes had looked on her ; all 
had met her cordially and with friendliness ; but during the 
last three days it had been otherwise ; it was as if she had hu- 
miliated a man who was sincerely good towards her, and for 
whom she felt as for a dear*brother, not less, but yet not more. 

It was the last evening “ the Gentleman ” was at the old 
manor : there was a life, vivacity, an activity — a restlessness 
about him, as if he already stood with one foot in the midst of 
Parisian life. The “ Marseillaise ” sounded again from the 
piano, and that infernal theme from “ Robert le Diable,” and 
Beranger’s songs, the most striking of them, — “ Reine du 
monde, O France, O ma patrie ! ” The old Baroness was just 
as lively as ever, but when the clock struck ten, the usual bed- 
time, or rather the time when they themselves broke up in 
summer, her smiling face assumed, a grave expression, and the 
tears stood in her eyes. 

“Farewell, my good child! be honorable and clever, as 
you have always been ! I shall not get up early in the morn- 
ing with the sun ; so I will now bid you farewell once for all ! ” 
She took hold of his cheek ; “ Let me see your face rightly, 
see if I have it, and can remember it wherever I may be. God 
bless thee, my good honest phild ! Go, go I farewell ! ” 

And “ the Gentleman ” was obliged to hasten his depart- 
ure. He had just time to press Elizabeth’s hand, but not to 
speak : the old lady motioned towards the door ; his eyes 
dwelt for a moment, tenderly, sadly, and kindly on F-izabeth ; 
he looked at the Baroness, nodded, and was out of the room. 

When Elizabeth went to her chamber, she sat down directly 
to her writing-desk. She could not do otherwise ; she must 
express herself freely, openly, to her friend, her brother, and 
bid him an affectionate, hearty farewell ! She told him with 
perfect innocence and sincerity how afflicted, how sorry she 
was ; she begged him to forgive her, to be good and kind to 
her as a brother ! A lover would have read hope and happi- 
ness in these lines, but he would assuredly have been mistaken. 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


252 

She had made a purse of tricolored silk ; it had been finished 
a week already, and destined for “ the Gentleman,” when they 
separated; but in the hurry with which his departure had 
been determined, Elizabeth had forgotten this little souvenir. 
It was taken out, the letter was placed in it, and she went to 
bed in order that she might get up early the next morning, 
and bid him farewell a second time. Sleep would not visit 
her eyes ; the hours passed slowly by under heavy floods 
of sorrowful thoughts. At daybreftik she dozed a little, but 
started from her sleep, for an open carriage drove into the 
yard : it was the one that was to convey “ the Gentleman ” to 
Assens, whence he would reach Kiel by the steamer the same 
day. Elizabeth sprang out of bed and dressed herself in 
haste ; she took her letter out again ; she must read it 
through once more; when just at that moment the carriage 
drove out of the yard. “The Gentleman” had everything 
ready when it came, not to keep it waiting for him. Elizabeth 
sprang to the window, having stuck the letter quickly into the 
purse. “ The Gentleman ” drove out directly under her, so 
that she could have cast it into his lap. She thought so, 
but wavered in her thoughts, and then he was some distance 
from the yard ; he turned round and looked up to the window. 

“Farewell, farewell!” she cried, with emotion. He am 
swered by waving his hat ; but she held the purse and letter 
fast in her hand ; the carriage turned round by the farm- 
buildings, and out of the first gate. Elizabeth looked at the 
clouds ; they were tinged with red from the rising sun. 

The following week Elizabeth was to return to her home in 
the Halligers. Moritz would then meet her at Flensborg, on 
the day of the steamer’s arrival there, but she must travel 
alone from Funen by the steamer to Flensborg. She could 
not see Herman’s estate, though this visit had frequently 
been determined on whilst “ the Gentleman” was still at the 
manor. It had, however, always been put off, from one cause 
or the other, and now it was quite given up, but not by 
Madame Krone, who liked the place so well, and would have 
Elizabeth to see her birthplace. 

“ Yes, now it looks quite different ; instead of the old, ruin- 
ous manor-house, the muddy, overgrown moat, there is now a 
little paradise, the prettiest country-house imaginable, and so 


THE SEPARATION- AND THE MEETING. 253 

delightfully situated, with a prospect over the Belt and Lange- 
land.” 

It would be a sin if Elizabeth should not go there, was Ma- 
dame Krone’s meaning, and therefore, three days before the 
lime for Elizabeth’s departure, she had, by her diplomatic 
talent, got it settled that Elizabeth and herself should pay a 
visit there. The Baroness, however, would, as she said, be 
free of them both, and amuse herself at home. 

There was a distance of about twelve miles to drive, but the 
country was very pretty, particularly after they had left the 
main road; they then came into a hilly and woody district 
which, at several points, had something of a park-like appear- 
ance : the way led past declivities, where one looked through 
the tops of old, high beeches down into great mill-dams. The 
water-mill lay so far down that the blue smoke, which as- 
cended from the chimney, had a long way to rise past the 
dark, elevated woody ground behind. Beautiful grass-plains 
stretched along the hills, surrounded by woods, and w'here an 
old willow-tree stood close by the wayside, so gnarled and 
split, that one would think it must fall ; it bore in its split 
trunk and rugged top a whole wilderness of raspberry-bushes 
and wild flowers, grown up from seed that the wind or birds 
had borne thither. 

‘‘ It is unspeakably beautiful ! ” exclaimed Elizabeth ; “here, 
at least, is blessedness and peace.” 

Her eyes shone as she spoke, but at the same moment sad 
thoughts passed through her heart. 

“ Here my poor mother wandered, sick and alone,” thought 
she ; “ they have buried her somewhere about here in a 
church-yard ; I know not where — no one knows her grave.” 

Madame Krone also found the district most beautiful, but 
that she had always found. She said, — 

“ If we were only through the sack ! ” 

What Madame Krone called the sack was a long lane with 
hedges, the finest that were to be found in all Funen : the 
sweet-briers, whose green leaves give forth a scent like the 
apple, hung so luxuriantly forward, with their thorny branches, 
that they struck the sides of the horses ; large burdocks lifted 
up their gigantic leaves ; the elder-trees bent down with fruit ; 
and the hazels were as if over-sown with five and seven clus- 


THE TWO BARONESSES. 


254 

tered nuts ; whilst the convolvulus, or, as the peasants called 
it, “crawl-up,” vied with the hop-bine for mastery. 

There was a turn in the road, and before them lay a pretty 
little country house, the corners of which were bounded by 
two towers ; a fine old linden-tree, the same that the young 
seamen saw in the old ruined court -yard of the manor-house, 
was the chief ornament before the entrance. 

Herman came out to meet his guests, his face beaming with 
pleasure. This dear visit was no surprise to him. 

“ At last ! at last ! ” he exclaimed ; “ this is kind, and I owe 
it to Madame Krone.” 

“ Quite so, entirely to me ! ” she replied, and they were led 
into the Pompeian painted rooms ; here everything was neat, 
tasteful, and comfortable. The breakfast-table was laid in the 
round corner room, whence they could see out over meadow 
and woodland. This was the very spot where Elizabeth was 
born ; and here her greeting of welcome was now heard. So 
absorbing was their talk, that they did not rise from the break- 
fast-table ; it was as if they forgot that the house and garden 
were also to be seen, and the hours flew on. It was almost 
near sunset when Madame Krone remembered the “Ting- 
sted,”^ the remains of a memorial of antiquity that stood 
close behind the dairy, a name which the building near the 
house still bore. 

“ My best prospect,” exclaimed Herman, “ the amplest of 
them all ! but this day seems to have been in a strange hurry : 
what has become of the time ? ” and he offered his arm to 
Madame Krone. She was tired, and they followed a path 
under elder and hazel bushes, loaded with nuts. A natural 
wall rose on the right ; it seemed impossible that horses could 
go before the plough here, the declivity was so abrupt, and 
yet they had done so, as the ripe corn showed, which now 
waved over the ploughed furrows. They soon stood before 
the “ Tingsted,” which presented a number of large stones 
arranged in an oblong circle. The sloe-thorn and bramble 
Dushes formed a little thicket here ; a flock of crows flew 
cawing away over the landscape, which, in smaller hills and 
dales, was filled with cornfields and meadows, environed by 
woods. 

1 The place of assize or assembly. 


THE SEPARATION AND THE MEETING. 


-55 

“ The mill-race down there,” said Herman, “ was once a 
large stream that bore the Viking’s ships far up into the coun- 
try ; one can clearly see the whole bed of the stream. 

Here the old giants and heroes sat and held council, each 
on one of these stones, and the chief sat on the largest. The 
strong men are all gone, all forgotten, — their names and even 
their age. Also he who lies up there : he was certainly a 
king, no one knows the name of” — and Herman pointed to a 
high mound of stones that lay behind them, where the natural 
wall suddenly broke off ; three immense stones, with an enor- 
mous top-stone lay there, which seemed to hang suspended 
in the air. 

“ From there,” said he, “ we have a still wider prospect, — 
a perfect panorama ! ” 

“ They ascended it, and the Great Belt with a few sails here 
and there, the coast of Sealand, and Langeland lay extended 
before them. Madame Krone would not climb so high, she 
therefore sat down by the hazel bushes. Elizabeth stood on 
the top-stone, which was broad enough to admit of Herman’s 
standing by her side ; the sun sent his last rays before setting, 
and the wind blew fresh and free j they stood there on the 
stone, in air and sunshine, as Elimar and Elizabeth had once 
stood in the rising sea. Where were the thoughts which then 
had birth ? where were the thoughts that came to life here ? 
It stands in the Scriptures “ that fire and whirlwinds are the 
Lord’s servants ; ” the warm sunbeams and the mild winds 
also announce his message. They bear many a w'ord that is 
too holy to be heard by the ears of the multitude, words that 
inclose poetry like that w'hich Petrarch transferred into his 
sonnets, like that which every young impassioned poet thinks 
he throws into his first verses. 

Herman and Elizabeth had sat down on the top-stone ; 
there Madame Krone found them, as, not having heard her 
call, they remained sitting, and she came to them. 

You let me sit and sit,” said she ; “ you did not hear me 
at all, nor did you come. Is it then so delightful here ? ” 

“ Immeasurably so,” exclaimed Herman, with an expression 
of rapture : “ it is enough to make one dance ; ” and he 
swung Madame Krone round, who laughed and looked as- 
tonished at his mirth. He then led her to Elizabeth, who had 


2^6 the two baronesses. 

risen from her seat, her cheeks burnt blushing red, — it was 
as if tears were in her blue eyes. 

What had happened? — yes, two days afterwards it was no 
longer a secret ; they were bride and bridegroom. 

“I have said it, and it is my meaning,” said the grand- 
mother ; “ ‘ rather from the milk-pail than from the court cal- 
endar,’ and Elizabeth belongs rather to the former than to the 
latter. She is a poor man’s child, and so am I too, but I sup- 
pose we have a kind of genealogical tree ! She will always be 
a good Christian, and she can teach the young Barons, when 
they come, that they are akin to the poor man. I shall also 
give them something to make them remember. They may 
call it ‘ Grandmother’s Bridal Gift : ’ it is something out of my 
life and adventures ; it is the flower of my genealogical tree, 
which shall teach a good lesson.” 

And what was “Grandmother’s Bridal Gift?” It was 
brought on the marriage-day, — that day towards which we are 
hastening rapidly ; the end of September — that day when the 
friends sat together in the ruinous old manor-house, which was 
now a comfortable, spacious, and delightful home, — the anni- 
versary of that day when the friends heard that infant cry and 
Herman pressed it to his heart — that child who was now his 
bride, his wife. The portrait-painter chooses the happy mo- 
ment to take the image of the person he would represent ; w'e 
choose the happiest, “the marriage-day.” Elizabeth stands 
before us ; a plain white satin dress enfolds her, her glossy 
brown hair is worn in a natural plait : she is somewhat pale, 
but her eyes sparkle, the soul beams from that countenance, 
and we see that she is only sixteen. The poor man’s child, in 
corporeal beauty nobly born, in intellect and appearance a 
daughter of the mind’s nobility, stands here before us. 

Still so short a life, and yet a history for many pages ; as 
yet only a quiet life, but a consistent whole, as far as it has 
gone ; as yet only an every-day story, but which, in all its 
fragrance and beauty, was seen and seized by a poetic soul on 
its best bright day of sunshine. 

She remembered Moritz’s words about the red thread, that 
passed through the cordage, great and small, to signify that it 
was the property of the crown, and that invisible thread which 


THE SEPARATION AND THE MEETING. 


257 

passes through every person’s life, great and small, and showed 
us that we belonged to God. She saw it in the years she had 
lived ; she saw how necessary, how rich in blessings, every 
heavy day of change had been to her ; she understood that in 
her solitary life on Oland, divided between nature and her 
Bible, a richer seed was sown in her soul than by possibility 
could have been in the old manor-house with the wealthy, 
strange Baroness. Even the meeting with the widow-lady was 
to be. The drive with Adelgunde led her a little over marshy 
ground ; but the marsh had its lilies, the invisible thread lay 
in the filament. Elizabeth’s heart rose up to God with grati- 
tude and confidence ; ours will, also, when we each seek, like 
her, the invisible thread in our own life’s history. 

“ Grandmother’s Bridal Gift ” stood in the centre of the 
table, hidden in a little casket, which was not to be opened 
before her death ; no one must see before that time what she 
called the flower of her genealogical tree, or the reminder for 
the coming generation. The gift could not be of great bulk. 

That is my treasure,” said she, “ and you must promise me 
to make use of it in the family on the fourteenth of August.” 

Was it gold and valuables that were to proceed thence? 
Was it an ornament that Elizabeth was to wear? 

“ You shall know its destination in due time,” said the old 
lady, and tossed her head. 

“The guests assembled around the breakfast-table. They 
were Moritz, Hedevig, and the Clergyman, who had performed 
the marriage-ceremony. There were no others ; it was Her- 
man’s and Elizabeth’s wish ; the grandmother would also have 
it so, and we may say Madame Krone too. The full-moon 
was their torch-bearer, when the happy pair, early in the even- 
ing, drove to their home — Elizabeth’s birthplace. The way 
might have been a hundred miles long ; they would not have 
felt it, not have thought of it. The little casket lay in Eliza- 
beth’s lap j what did it contain ? We will hasten to that point 
of time when it is to be opened, the day of the grandmother’s 
death ; but that is not yet. The full moon that lights the 
bridal pair home shines into the chamber of the strange old 
lady, who bends her knee before the bed, and sends up her 
prayers to the Almighty. 

17 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


A LITTLE ABOUT THEM ALL, — THE GRANDMOTHER’S BRIDAL 

GIFT. 

E will again fly out of that quiet, happy home, — fly 



V V far abroad, in order to come back again wearied, so 
that we may the better enjoy rest, and comprehend in thought 
the whole picture that is delineated in these pages. We will 
look up our old acquaintances, and see how they are going on, 
now that four years have elapsed since Herman and Eliza- 
beth’s marriage. 

The widow lady is in the house of correction ; there she is in 
security, and is accustomed to police air. 

Adelgunde — yes, strange things occur in this world — but 
it is so, and it cannot b^ otherwise — she is married to Hol- 
ger, — that sÅe understood how to bring about. He is post- 
master in a provincial town, and she is now postmistress ; and 
that the button was the cause of ; that unfortunate button 
which fell off, or else Holger would perhaps have now been 
sitting with Clara by his side ; Clara, who now lives in and for 
art and the great world, who has her box at the Copenhagen 
Italian Opera, is an enthusiastic admirer of the Italians, casts 
wreaths of flowers regularly on the stage to them, and is 
happy. The great world is so, half of Copenhagen is so. She 
is also as enthusiastic as ever for the exterior of Thorvaldsen’s 
museum, and that, notwithstanding she is not painted on the 
walls. 

Frederick has left the provincial representatives for the ves- 
sel of state : he has also become tired of his youthful passion, 
the steersman’s art. 

Little Sanne has been confirmed some three years since, 
and has been twice engaged. Her present sweetheart is now 
employed at the steam-washing-company’s establishment, and 
it must be a pleasure to us, on little Sanne’s account, as there 
is a chance of her yet becoming clean. 


A LITTLE ABOUT THEM ALL. 


259 

The Organ Man, Elizabeth’s father, yes, — she knows noth- 
ing of him as yet, nor he about her ; so well had he “ grouped ” 
his stories that we were for some time thrown quite off the 
right track. He is, however, in Copenhagen, and married to 
little Sanne’s sister. Her first husband died, and this one has 
got his office, not to deliver the newspapers, but the more im- 
portant one, that of being the responsible publisher ; he even 
announces a new paper, with family secrets and wood-cuts ; it 
will have subscribers ! 

But let us hasten far away from these to the fresh open sea, 
to the quiet Halligers, for there also we have acquaintances. 

Everything on Oland was the same as when Elizabeth set 
off from there : even Piltitz lay in the same chair and looked 
up to the picture of Grandrnother Osa, whose eyes Elimar had 
put out, — Elimar who was now married to the wealthy widow, 
Jap Lidt Fetters had courted Keike, but they had not come to 
terms. Everything was as before, only the gooseberry-bush at 
the parsonage was withered ; the spring no longer unfolded its 
fine green leaves ; and the sea had cut off a still greater piece 
from the old church-yard. 

But in Funen, every season of the year brought riches and 
happiness. At the small estate in Funen lived Herman and 
Elizabeth, every year still happier, if it were possible to be so. 
What she had dreamt, the night King Frederick’s body was 
taken to Roeskilde, returned to her thoughts. She now re- 
membered that it was Herman who took Elimar’s place, when 
she in her dream read her book of the future. She believed 
in it, and thought that her happiness in reality was a con- 
tinued dream. There was a blessing in and around that little 
home, as if good elves, which the legends tell of, nourished 
every root and plant. The fruit-trees bent in their fullness, the 
corn had the heaviest ears, and in the canal before the house, 
there Elizabeth’s favorite flower abounded, the white water- 
lily, the lotus plant of the North. It lay like a great swim- 
ming bush in the middle of the water, a whole flowery tale. 

In that corner of the house where Elizabeth was born stood 
a magnificent rococo closet, and therein the unopened casket, 
containing “ Grandmother’s Bridal Gift,” was placed. One day 
Elizabeth also placed some written leaves there, — it was 


26 o 


THE TWO BARONESSES, 


Grandmother’s history brought down to the young folks’ brii 
day. It was a true and interesting picture of the old Baron- 
ess, — it might be called a novel ; and in that the poet’s prob- 
lem was really solved, by opening the eye to the poetical in 
the every-day-life around us ; by pointing to the invisible thread 
which in every person’s life signifies that we belong to God , 
by letting us see the peculiarities in the nature of ourselves, 
our family, and in mankind; by finding the impress of God, 
even where it is hidden under the fool’s dress, or the beggar’s 
rags. 

Herman raised his finger threateningly, and smiled : “ Then 
you have not yet killed the author in you ? ” said he. 

“ One cannot kill the mind ! ” she answered gayly. “ Let . 
this, however, be an explanation of ‘Grandmother’s Bridal 
Gift,’ whatever it may be. It reminds one of her.” 

“ And of my dear foundling ! ” said Herman, and he 
pressed Elizabeth to his heart; “of her and thee^ ‘The Two 
Baronesses ! ’ ” 

We will visit the elder of the two, the singular old lady ! 
There, at the great manor-house, she still resided, the Grand- 
mother and Madame Krone. It was the time for roses ; the 
great rose-bed in the court-yard, where the wooden horse had 
formerly stood, was in its richest flower. In the field outside, 
the red clover stood, so thick and fragrant with its flowers, 
that it seemed as if they would also be roses. The air was 
warm ; the clouds so soft and transparent, they might all have 
been painted, they were so exactly what they should be. The 
bees flew humming about, and the willow twigs bent under the 
flocks of sparrows ; there was life and movement ; and during 
all this there approached, — not that tawny-white skeleton 
with his scythe and hour-glass, as he is painted on the church 
wall, — no, but the renewing angel, the winnowing of whose 
wing brings from the unknown land an air, within whose 
breath our earthly body is gently prepared for corruption. 

The old Baroness had been in delicate health for a couple 
of days ; she had now recovered her, usual liveliness again, 
and this was still more increased, when she one day, shortly 
before dinner, got a letter from her good child “ the Gentle- 
man,” — a letter which told her that he should not die a 


THE GRANDMOTHER'S BRIDAL GIFT 26 1 

helor ; an excellent girl was now his bride, a Scotch girl, 
sister to Knox, whom we may remember during his visit to 
the parsonage on Oland. His new opera, founded on Shake- 
speare’s “ Tempest,” had been brought out in London, and 
had caused a great sensation. 

“ Hurra for England and Scotland ! ” shouted the old Bar- 
oness. “ We will drink that toast, Madame Krone ! ” 

And she filled the glass and emptied it ; her eyes were so 
large, so clear. “ Hurra for England and Scotland ! ” she re- 
peated : it was .the lamp that blazed up ; she smiled, and sat 
still, as if she thought of something that made her inwardly 
glad ; her eyes then closed of themselves — she opened them 
again. 

“ It is remarkable how tired I am ! ” said she. “ Sleep 
comes over me all at once. I am not, however, strong even 
to bear pleasure. I will now sit a little back in the arm- 
chair.” 

And she sat there, and appeared to sleep, but only for a few 
minutes ; she then opened her eyes suddenly and exclaimed ; 
“ Where is Herman ? where is ’Lizabeth ? I shall not live to 
see them — I am dying ! Do not let me lie in the chapel, but 
outside ; there is a fine prospect there ! / shall not see it, 

but can who come there, and so they will, at least, have 
some pleasure of it. I have given my bridal gift, but I would 
have said a few words with it ; now they can open the casket. 
What do you think there is in it ? there is only a wooden 
spoon ; but it is cut out of a plank from the wooden horse that 
my father rode on. It was on the 14th of August ; on that 
day they shall always take it out for the young lord of the 
manor. When he comes, they shall lay it before him, and tell 
him from whence he comes, that it may teach him we are all 
and every one poor men’s children before the Lord ! ” 

She nodded, — there was a smile on her mouth, and the old 
Baroness was dead. The warm sun shone out-of-doors ; the 
clouds were brilliant, and the roses were in full flower. 

A white butterfly flew heavenward from the rose-bed ; as if 
accident would preach immortality, — which shone from the 
countenance of the old woman, and shines in every believer’s 
heart. 


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